


Heaven Won't Take Me

by Headfulloffantasies



Series: Angel With a Shotgun [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angels, Case Fic, Character Death, Demon Deals, Demon Dean Winchester, Demons, Heaven, Hell, Human Castiel, Magic!Sam, Sam Has Magic, angel au, angel with a shotgun, rowena - Freeform, the mark of cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 33,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Headfulloffantasies/pseuds/Headfulloffantasies
Summary: The sequel to Angel With a Shotgun. Highly recommend reading that first. Sam, Dean, Cas, and Bobby hunt for a solution to Bobby's demon deal.
Series: Angel With a Shotgun [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798771
Comments: 34
Kudos: 9





	1. The Road Goes Ever On

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read Angel With a Shotgun this will make no sense. Shout out to NinaFerraro for the inspiration to write this.

Darkness encased the circular room. Not even the air stirred. The white chalk pattern on the floor was interrupted in its cycle by a splatter of red. Blood. It dribbled from the lips of the room’s occupant. In the exact center of the chalk pattern, a man sat strapped to a chair. His matted hair hung in his face and his head drooped. Despite his defeated position, cunning eyes darted into every corner of the room, searching for an escape.

The door clanked and creaked open on its iron hinges. The lights flared. The man in the chair flinched. A figure stepped into the room, coiled aggression in every line of his body.

“Dean Winchester,” the man in the chair slurred. He coughed wetly. “Pleasure to meet you face to face.”

Contained anger sizzled off Dean’s skin. He prowled closer, right into the man’s space. “Tell me about Crowley,” Dean demanded. “And I might let you live, demon.”

“The King of Hell?” the demon laughed and spat a bloody glob at Dean’s feet. “I’d rather bathe in holy water than squeal on Crowley.”

A mirthless smile curled the edges of Dean’s mouth. “That’s what they all say. But I think you’ll find that you’d rather cross Crowley than cross the Winchesters.”

The demon lurched in his bonds. “You’re only human,” he bared red stained teeth. “You have no special powers anymore, angel boy.”

“We’ll see.” Dean switched the lights back off and let the panic room door fall shut behind him. 

Dean shook out his clenched fists and trundled up the stairs. The kitchen swelled with the scent of baking pie and bubbling stew. Sam sat at the table with the newspaper open to the obituaries.

“Well?” Sam asked, brushing hair out of his face.

“He’s a tough nut,” Dean lifted the lid off the stew. “But we’ll crack him.”

“I want to have a go at him,” Sam said. “I thought I could use my magic, try to compel him into telling the truth.”

“Sam, no,” Dean insisted. He leaned against the stove. “Every time you use your magic, you burn part of your soul.”

“But it’s okay when I use magic for telepathy?” Sam shot back. He spoke without opening his mouth, his thoughts flowing like water into Dean’s mind. 

“Have you heard from Cas?” Dean changed the subject. He couldn’t bear the thought of Sam’s voice not invading his head, the two of them exchanging words as easy as breathing. If Sam needed to power the telepathy with his own soul, then so be it. It might make him a hypocrite, but Dean didn’t care.

“Cas should be here any minute,” Sam glanced at the clock. “But, Dean, I’m not dropping this. I want to try forcing the truth from that demon. Crowley promised that a little magic here and there wouldn’t shorten my life.”

“If this demon doesn’t fold soon, your mojo might be our only option,” Dean sighed. “We’re running out of time.”

Sam’s answer got lost in the rumble of an engine outside. Dean wiped his hands on a tea towel and stepped out onto the back porch.

Cas rode up to the old house on a growling motorcycle. Its chrome gleamed and its black leather shone. Cas killed the engine and leaned back to remove his helmet. His dark hair stood up, mussed from the ride. He swung a leg over the bike and dusted off his black leather jacket.

Cas hopped up the three steps and folded himself into Dean’s waiting hug. “Missed you,” Dean admitted. He squeezed Cas tight. Cas still felt too thin under his hands.

“I missed you as well,” Cas said.

“Is that Castiel I hear?” Bobby hollered from inside. Dean pulled Cas into the kitchen. Cas and Sam exchanged a warm handshake. Bobby emerged from the library living room with a book tucked under his arm. 

“Still riding the crotch-rocket?” Bobby slapped Cas on the back. 

“It’s the closest I’ve come to flying,” Cas confessed with a grin. 

“I’m glad it makes you happy,” Dean said sincerely. Dean had struggled with Cas’ decision to leave, but the ex-angel found himself out there on the road. Spreading his metaphoric wings brought Cas more joy than Dean had ever seen in the guy. So long as he came home every now and then, Dean was happy for him. 

Dean forced everyone to sit around the kitchen table while he set their plates and dished out the stew. With everyone seated, their elbows bumped and jostled. It felt perfect.

“So,” Sam asked as everyone tucked into their meal. “Cas, what’s new?”

Dean passed along the biscuits. “Give the guy a break, he just walked in the door.”

Cas pushed his fork back and forth on his plate. “Actually, I have news. About a monster.”

“Yeah?” Sam leaned across the table, almost upending the water pitcher. 

Cas elaborated. “I stopped in a small town last night. The sheriff there told me that children have been falling asleep and not waking up. Five, so far. Two deaths.”

“Didn’t we hunt something like that?” Dean turned his head to Sam. “The witch hag thing in the night feeding off soul energy?”

Sam frowned. “You mean the striga?”

“That’s the one,” Dean nodded. He asked Cas. “Could it be a striga?”

Cas shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. But people are dying.” He lifted his eyes. “I’d like some help with this one, if you’d be willing.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance.

“You’ve got plenty of hunting experience,” Sam started.

“And we’ve got a time sensitive project going right now,” Dean finished. “What do you need us for?”

Cas fidgeted. “I’m not good with parents.”

Dean blinked. 

“Is it a people skills thing?” Sam shot at Dean question without breaking eye contact with Cas. His poker face when they exchanged silent words remained neutral. Dean was less subtle. 

“Out loud, boys,” Bobby grumbled. 

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled. He had the gall to look contrite, when he was the one who started it. Dean scowled. “I only meant to ask if we have time to spare,” Sam lied smoothly. 

“I can handle the demon,” Dean assured Sam. “You go with Cas.”

“What demon?” Cas demanded. 

“Come take a look,” Dean pushed back from his finished plate. Cas followed him into the basement, Sam trailing behind him. 

Dean slid back the view port in the solid iron door and stepped back to let Cas see into the gloom. Cas stood at the door for a long minute.

“Dean,” he said at last, “There’s nothing there.”

“What?” Dean shoved forward. He crammed his face against the slot in the iron. In the dark of the panic room, Dean could make out very few details. The white demon trap almost glowed in the dimness. Coils of rope lay limp on the floor. The chair sat in the center of the trap, empty. 

Dean scrambled for the latch on the door. Sam’s hand closed over his. “It’s a trap,” Sam said.

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean grumbled. “What else am I supposed to do? Wait for it to attack?”

Sam grimaced. He reached over to the workbench against the wall and pulled down an iron wrench the length of his arm. 

Cas removed his angel blade from his leather jacket. Dean locked eyes with Cas. The ex-angel nodded. Dean withdrew the demon knife from his belt. 

He took a deep breath. Dean threw open the panic room door. The three of them burst over the threshold, weapons held high. Dean cast his eyes all over the room, searching.

The darkness could not obscure the splatter of blood splashed over a corner of the demon trap, dissolving the chalk line. 

“There’s nothing here,” Cas repeated his earlier sentiment. 

Dean opened his mouth to respond. A shadow detached itself from the ceiling and launched at Sam. 

Sam yelled. The thing bowled him over. The wrench went spinning across the floor. Dean dove to his brother’s side, knife ready.

“Get off him,” Dean snarled, gripping a handful of the demon’s shirt collar. 

The demon elbowed Dean square in the gut. Dean stumbled back. Cas attacked, moving like lightning. He struck from above, the flash of his blade bright in the dark. The demon twisted, abandoning Sam to catch Cas’ arm and toss him aside with a curse. 

Sam scrambled to his feet. “Close your eyes!” The shout in Dean’s head rattled his brain. He slammed his eyes shut just in time. Light seared the backs of Dean’s retinas red. Heat hit him in the face, crackling with power. The demon’s shriek clawed through Dean’s ears.

Darkness returned. Dean chanced opening his eyes. The demon lay in a smoking mess on the floor. Dean choked on the stench of charred flesh and singed hair. Sam stood panting over the corpse. 

The demon was absolutely dead. Then a chuckle, wet with blood, rose from the body on the floor. 

“That was pretty nifty,” The demon rasped. “Would have worked on a run of the mill demon, too.”

“Dean, Sam.” Cas warned. He scraped himself off the floor. 

The demon laughed, tossing the sticky remains of its head back against the floor. 

“You really dragged me here without any idea who I am?” The demon’s limbs moved, its arms and legs puppeteering up and down. It dragged itself inexplicably to its ruined feet. Chunks hung off it, tatters of clothing smoking in ribbons. “My name is Dagon. I am not a hell spawned demon. I am a Prince of Hell.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Dean raised his knife. Dagon closed his fist. Dean lifted off his feet and careened across the room. His head cracked against the iron wall. Dean landed in a heap, seeing stars. 

“Ignorance,” Dagon rolled his eyes. “Might be the saving grace of idiots. But as weak as you are, you are not stupid.”

“You’re not going to monologue are you?” Dean groaned as he picked himself up. “I’m already sick of your talking.” Dean reached for the demon knife. It vanished like smoke between his fingers. Dean gasped, horror clawing his chest. He looked up. 

Cas lunged at Dagon, swiping half-heartedly at the demon. Meanwhile, Sam circled behind Dagon, the demon knife in his hand. He struck. Dagon spun. He caught Sam by the arm. Dagon slammed his open palm against Sam’s forehead. A spell like venom dripped from Dagon’s lips. Sam crumpled to the ground. 

“Sam!” Dean rushed Dagon. Dagon cackled. A blast enveloped the room. Blinding light whited out Dean’s vision.

Dean woke with a sheet of steel crushing his chest. Dust choked his lungs. Dean dug himself out of the rubble. 

“Sam?” Dean coughed. “Cas? Bobby?”


	2. End of an Era

Dean dug himself out of the rubble. He coughed on the dust clogging the air in thick clouds. He struggled to his feet and surveyed the damage in horror. If not for the garage and the salvage yard in the distance, Dean wasn’t sure he would recognize the landscape. It was worse than the fire. The fire had at least left the bones of the house intact. This, this was a complete demolition. Chunks of debris no bigger than Dean’s head dotted a landscape of grey and black. It was every zombie movie cliché rolled into one. Desolate, deserted, destitute. 

“Sam! Bobby! Cas!” Dean yelled. The debris in his throat scraped like nails. 

A shout answered somewhere to Dean’s left. He followed the sounds of someone struggling under a massive weight. He found Bobby with his legs pinned under what looked like the twisted remains of the panic room door. 

“Bobby,” Dean’s knees hit the dirt next to him. He gripped the edge of the door and lifted with all his might. Sweat ran tracks through the dust on Dean’s face. The weight didn’t budge. Dean released the door, panting. Not for the last time did Dean wish for his angelic strength back.

“We need help,” Bobby said, his voice tight with pain. “Where’s Sam? Cas?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them yet.”

“Go find them,” Bobby ordered. “I’ll be damned if I lose my legs again.”

Dean obediently shoved to his feet and staggered further into the wreckage. A long beam of wood leaned against a frame of what might have once made up the basement staircase. 

A cough drew Dean’s attention to the other side of the crushed staircase. Dark hair, turned white with dust, poked out from the rubble. Dean scrambled over the obstruction. Cas lay in a crumpled heap of torn leather. 

“Hey,” Dean gripped Cas’ shoulder. The ex-angel groaned and blinked up at Dean. A bloody gash dripped over his eye. “You good?” 

“Not exactly,” Cas rasped. 

“C’mon,” Dean tugged Cas up. “Bobby’s stuck. You and me should be able to get him out.”

Cas limped behind Dean to Bobby’s side.

“No Sam?” Bobby asked. 

Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t speak over the fear clogging his throat. All of them had gotten hurt. What if Sam was hurt worse? Or what if he was-

Dean shook the thoughts aside. One problem at a time. 

“Let’s get you out of there,” Dean got a good grip on the door. Cas knelt next to him. Together, they strained until their muscles protested. The door shifted. Bobby wiggled out from under it. Dean and Cas let go. The door hit the debris with a cloud of noxious dust. 

“You good?” Dean extended a hand to Bobby. Bobby gripped his arm and Dean helped him up. Bobby surveyed the remains of his beloved home with a sour eye. 

“It’s a miracle the blast blew outwards instead of collapsing the house on top of us,” Bobby marvelled. 

“That’s not how I define miracles,” Cas groused. 

“We have to find Sam,” Dean demanded. The choking fear crawled up his esophagus. The entire time they’d spent digging each other from the debris, Dean had shouted across his telepathic link for Sam. No response. 

“I think we made a mistake with that demon,” Bobby said as they picked their way through chunks of brick and stone. 

“Oh, you think?” Dean snapped.

“Don’t get snotty with me,” Bobby admonished. “That wasn’t a normal demon. Nothing normal could have blown up that panic room.”

“He called himself a Prince of Hell,” Dean remembered. 

“What’s a Prince of Hell?” Bobby asked. 

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know.” Dan kicked at a chunk of mortar. “But Dagon said he served Crowley. He’ll tell Crowley what we’re up to.”

“What are you up to?” Cas interjected. 

Dean cast a side eye at him. Cas watched with steady blue eyes. 

“We’re looking to break Bobby out of his deal,” Dean answered.

Cas frowned. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Better than letting Bobby die,” Dean insisted.

They moved on in silence, the tension in Dean shoulders tightening with every second that Sam didn’t answer his frantic mental call. 

“Dean,” Bobby’s soft voice stopped Dean dead in his tracks. Whatever inspired that tone, Dean didn’t want to see it. 

Cas moved forward, his fingers brushing Dean’s arm as he passed. Cas paused beside Bobby. They looked down on something in the rubble. Dean watched their backs and refused to look down. Cas stiffened, and then his shoulders dropped lower than Dean had ever seen them. Dean swallowed hard. His traitor eyes drifted downwards. A dark lump next to Cas’ foot became recognizable as a brown shoe. 

Dean’s feet brought him closer without his permission. A second shoe registered beside the first and the cuff of a pair of jeans came into view. Then a plaid shirt. Dean closed his eyes. 

“He’s not dead,” Bobby said.

Dean’s eyes flew open. He shoved forward, crashing to his knees beside Sam’s limp body. Sam’s chest rose and fell with shallow, rattling breaths. 

“Sam?” Dean shook Sam gently. “Why won’t he wake up?”

“The spell Dagon hit Sam with,” Cas shuddered. 

“I heard,” Dean swallowed. “What does it do?”

“It’s evil, Dean. Forbidden knowledge,” Cas impressed. “Dagon separated Sam from his soul.”

“What?” Dean gasped.

“Sam’s soul is gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one this time. From now on, I hope to be posting a new chapter once a week.


	3. Death's Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death pays Dean a visit

Bobby convinced Dean and Cas they needed to move before the cops showed up. They loaded Sam’s limp body into the back of Baby and peeled out of Singer Salvage. Glancing back in the rear-view mirror, Dean realised it was probably the last time he’d see what had been his home for the past eighteen years. 

They pulled into a little motel on the edge of the highway. Getting Sam into the room without arousing suspicion took a fair amount of flirting with the receptionist that Dean’s heart really wasn’t into. They laid Sam out on top of the Hawaiian print bedspread. 

Dean paced back and forth, glaring at the parrots and palm trees decorating the TV and the bathroom.

Cas tossed aside his leather jacket and occupied himself in the bathroom, wiping the blood from the cut above his eye. Once again, Dean wished from his angelic powers to heal all their various injuries. 

“So where is his soul?” Dean wheeled on Cas.

“It’s still attached,” Cas confirmed, dabbing his washcloth in the sink. “Sam just doesn’t have access to it, as it were.”

Dean rubbed his throbbing skull. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“It sounds like hocus pocus to me,” Bobby agreed.

“It’s a rare occurrence,” Cas said. He turned from the mirror with sombre glint in his eye. “There is something else. Without a soul, the body will flounder.”

“What are you saying?” Dean demanded.

“I’m saying Sam’s body is dying. He has three days at the most, and then his body will give in to its natural reactions.”

“No,” Dean shook his head. “Not happening. We’re getting his soul back.”

Cas nodded, his eyes sad. 

For some reason, the pity in Cas’ deep eyes was the last straw. Dean spun on his heel and wrenched open the motel room door. “I need some air,” Dean slammed the door behind him. He made it to the parking lot before the first sob escaped his throat. He dug his keys from his pockets. Tears misted his vision as he unlocked Baby and clambered into the driver’s seat. Dean leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and let the waterworks flow. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, gripping the wheel like a life support. 

A knock on the window startled Dean. Bobby opened the door. Dean wiped his face. Bobby said nothing. He only waited. 

Dean’s chest hitched. “I can’t hear him. What am I without Sam in my head?” A sob escaped. “I can’t hear him, Bobby.”

Bobby sighed. “He’s not gone yet, Dean. We got three more days to get him back.”

Dean sniffed. “Yeah. Okay.”

Bobby rapped his fist on the roof of the car. “Come in when you’re ready. We’ll work out a battle plan.”

The sun set red and angry in the west when Dean finally dragged himself back into the motel room. Sam’s still form caused Dean’s eye to twitch. Sam never slept still like that. He always tossed and turned. 

Bobby’s hand landed on Dean’s shoulder. “You look wrecked. Get some sleep. Cas and I will take watches.”

Dean fell asleep to Sam’s rasping breaths grating on his ears.

Dean woke with a start. A figure stood over Sam’s bed. Dean leaped up, hand reaching for his pistol. 

“Dean Winchester,” the figure said in a voice like the opening of a crypt. Something primal in the back of Dean’s head told him to stay still and maybe it wouldn’t see him. The figure moved out of the shadow. Gaunt, almost skeletal, and dressed in an impeccable black suit, the man leaned on a cane shaped like a scythe. 

“Are you-?” Dean couldn’t finish the sentence, his mouth going dry at the implication.

“Death?” The man inclined his head. “The same. I have been watching you very closely Dean Winchester.”

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked, his guts turned to jelly.

Death shrugged. “A disturbance in the Force drew me here, if you will.”

“Death is a Star Wars fan,” Dean mumbled. 

“Indeed,” Death sniffed. “I also have considerable interest in the lives and opposite thereof of the Winchester boys.”

“Why?” Dean asked before he could stop himself. Death gave him a look which spoke of eons of annoyance and exasperation. 

Dean glanced at the lumps of Bobby and Cas in their respective beds. 

“They’ll sleep through this conversation, if you don’t mind,” Death said as though reading Dean’s thoughts.

“Sit,” Death demanded. Dean’s legs dropped into the motel chair. Death sat opposite, his cane vanishing the moment he let go of it. Dean fought the impulse to lean away from the being in front of him. He felt like a mouse in front of a lion. No, worse than that. Like a speck of dust against the power of the freaking sun. 

Death folded his bony hands on the table. “Sam’s soul is missing, as I’m sure you know. The trouble is, even I don’t know where the thing has got to. It’s not natural. When I heard, I came at once. You and your brother have been a fracture in the equation of the universe since the moment you were created. I’d rather balance the equation if possible.”

Dean growled. “If you touch him before I get his soul back, I’ll kill you myself.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Death had the audacity to look amused.

“I don’t know yet,” Dean admitted. “But I will move the foundations of the earth to find a way. You know me. You know what I’ve done to forces who oppose me.”

Death sniffed. “Yes, closing the Gates of Hell on all of the demons and half the army of Heaven was rather impressive. I remember you being an angel at the time though.”

“I’m still just as tenacious,” Dean promised. “And I’m properly motivated.”

“True enough,” Death considered Dean for a long moment. Dean once again considered his own fragility in comparison to the presence of the power that seeped from Death. 

“Dagon interrupted my business with that nasty spell. Bodies are not supposed to go on breathing when the soul has departed. So, this one time, I will offer you assistance, Dean Winchester.”

“Thank you.” Relief swept over Dean. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Death warned. “I’m sending you out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it were. You might ask where Sam’s soul would have gone if he had died a natural death. Or at least, a proper death. There’s never been anything natural about you boys.”

Death stood. His cane appeared in his hand, its scythe head glittering silver. “Remember,” Death said. “Sam is running out of time. If you don’t restore his soul in the next two days, I will reap him, regardless of your personal opinions on the matter.”

Between two blinks Death vanished. He left a scent like lilies behind. 

Dean cursed, loud enough that Cas snuffled awake. 

“Dean?” Cas said into the dark. “What’s wrong?”

Jitters gripped Dean, forcing him to his feet. He paced the length of the motel room. Cas sat up and watched him. Dean paused at the foot of Sam’s bed. His shallow breaths gave the only clue he hadn’t become a corpse in the night. 

Dean turned sharply and came over to Cas’ bed instead. He sat on the edge of the mattress and told Cas everything Death had said. 

“Death believes Sam’s soul has passed out of this world?” Cas asked when Dean was done.

Dean shrugged. “Makes sense, right? Death only operates on Earth. If he can’t find Sam’s soul, it can’t be down here. It’s got to have moved on.”

“Where do we go from here?” Cas asked.

Dean grimaced. “I think we need to talk to some angels.”


	4. Hold Tight Dumbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas search for an angel

“We can’t drag Sam across kingdom come. Not like this,” Bobby reasoned. “I’ll stay here with him. I’ll keep hitting the lore, see if I can find any other solutions.”  
Dean agreed half-heartedly. “Fine. Cas and I will find an angel.” He turned to Cas. “Any ideas?”

Cas sighed. “I have maybe one or two calls I can make. But Dean,” Cas warned. “I may not be able to get into contact with anyone. Heaven is still furious with me.”

Dean spread empty hands. “You’re all we’ve got.”

Cas nodded. “Then we need to leave now.”

Dean grabbed his keys. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Why don’t we just pray? There’s got to be an angel with their ears on, right?”

Cas levelled Dean with a blank, disapproving stare. “Ninety percent of any angels who might answer that prayer would arrive intending to kill us all. You are not popular in Heaven, Dean. Neither am I.”

“Ninety percent?” Dean smirked. “Seems kinda high.”

“I assure you,” Cas said as he opened the door and shoved passed Dean. “That is an optimistic estimate.”

Dean followed Cas’ directions into town and down a street generously referred to as a drag. Cas instructed Dean to park in front of a shop window filled to the bursting with a violent array of crystals catching the light and flinging it back into Dean’s eyes.

“Cas,” Dean got out of the car. “This isn’t a gate to Heaven, is it?”

“No,” Cas led the way to the front door. Dean jogged to catch up. 

“You want to tell me where we are?” Dean asked, peeved.

Cas turned his mysterious eyes on Dean. “It’s best if you don’t say anything. Don’t touch anything. Don’t draw attention.” Cas opened the door. 

Dean frowned on the step, bewildered at the instructions. He followed Cas warily inside. Half of him expected to be attacked the second his boots hit the welcome mat. Instead, jasmine and chamomile assaulted Dean’s nose. He blinked at the rainbows cast by crystals hanging from the ceiling. 

“Rowena,” Cas called out. 

A thump turned into rough Scottish cursing somewhere in the back of the little shop. The bead curtains behind the cash desk parted to reveal a beautiful woman with wild red curls. Her eyes shone behind glittering gold eyeshadow. 

“Castiel,” Rowena sighed. “It’s been too long, pet.” Her eyes flashed to Dean. He got the impression she was sizing him up. Possibly to eat. “Who is this handsome young man?”

“Dean, this is Rowena,” Cas introduced tersely. “Rowena is the best witch in the world. I occasionally ask her for help on cases.”

“Oh, he’s so sweet,” Rowena simpered. “How did that banshee spell work for you, darling?”

“As you said it would,” Cas nodded. 

“What can I do for you lovely gentlemen today?” Rowena asked. Her eyes roamed over Dean again. 

“I need to speak to an angel,” Cas said.

Rowena scoffed. “Pet, you can do that without me. What do you really need?”

“I need an angel,” Cas said, stone faced. 

Rowena gave a smile showing all her teeth.

“A real angel,” Cas corrected before she could point out the obvious. 

Rowena pouted. “You always come to me with a challenge. I have to say, I’m a little disappointed.”

“Can we cut the drama?” Dean blurted out. He stuffed his fidgeting hands into his pockets. Every second in this hippie shop was a second Sam got closer to breathing his last. “Will you help or not?”

Rowena grinned. Dean realised she’d been stalling on purpose, winding him up to see if he’d break. Now she knew Dean’s limits. He internally cursed himself. 

“I’m afraid you’ve caught me in an awkward situation,” Rowena batted her eyelashes. “I’m low on stock. Right out of a key ingredient for the spell you’ll need.”

“What ingredient?” Dean growled.

Rowena sniffed. “It doesn’t matter. You couldn’t possibly get one at this time of year.”

“What. Ingredient?” Dean repeated. 

Rowena flashed her teeth again. “An angel feather.”

Cas sucked a breath. Dean turned on his heel and stormed out of the shop. Cas’ footfalls thudded behind him. “Dean-,”

Dean wrenched open the passenger door of the Impala. 

“Dean, we’ll find a different spell,” Cas started.

Dean slapped the glove compartment open and rummaged inside. Cas kept rambling. Dean fished out a tin box etched with Enochian symbols. 

Cas faltered. “Is that-?”

Dean ignored him, shoving the car door closed again. He stalked back into the store. Cas trailed hot on his heels. 

“Here,” Dean slapped the tin onto Rowena’s counter. “There’s one genuine angel feather.”

Rowena lifted the lid of the tin. A single white plume sat curled inside. Rowena hovered a hand over the feather with her eyes shut. 

“Yes,” Rowena’s eyes snapped open. “This will work. Though,” she frowned. “There is a considerable energy to this feather unlike anything I have encountered before. From which angel did you get this?”

“It’s mine,” Dean ground out.

Cas gasped. 

Rowena’s eyes widened a fraction. For a split second her mask of clever cheekiness slipped. Dean read hunger in the lines of her face. 

“It’s my last one,” Dean said carefully. The feather lay there innocently, devoid of the blood Dean had gently washed from its down. Dean swallowed hard. He hated looking at the thing. It hurt too much to remember he'd once had an entire set of feathers. Hell, he missed flying. 

The hunger in the witch's eyes did not die. Rowena smiled. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”

“And I’m impatient,” Dean nodded to the feather. “It’ll work?”

Rowena nodded. She spun like a ballerina and began yanking jars and vials from the shelf behind her. She slammed a massive stone bowl down on the counter. Pouches of herbs, drops of noxious fumes, and something disturbingly like blood vanished into the bowl. Lastly, Rowena held aloft the angel feather. Rowena incanted in a language Dean didn’t recognise. The feather dropped into the spell. Flames shot towards the ceiling. Dean flinched. 

The feather lifted out of the bowl. It glowed with a soft violet light. 

“Follow it,” Rowena demanded. As if it had heard, the feather zoomed towards the door. Dean scrambled after it.

“Thank you!” Dean shouted over his shoulder. He darted after the feather zipping across the parking lot. Dean considered leaping into the car. He abandoned the idea as the feather skipped over a children’s playpark across the street. The spell kept going. It danced between buildings, down alleys, through yards. Dean panted and wheezed. No matter how fast he ran, the feather stayed ahead. 

Finally, it drifted to a stop at a cemetery. It lazily looped over a gravestone and came to rest on a statue of a benevolent angel. The statue’s outstretched hand caught the feather. The purple glow faded from the feather. 

Dean dropped his hands to his knees and gasped for breath. A steady footfall announced Cas’ arrival over the grass. 

“This is it?” Dean groaned.

Cas examined the stone angel, walking a circle around her wide wings and upturned face. “It’s a gate to Heaven,” Cas declared. 

“How do we open it?” Dean asked.

“You don’t,” a voice said. 

A dark-skinned angel in a silver suit stepped out from behind a tree. “Castiel,” she sneered.

“Rachel?” Cas tipped his head. “Is that you?”

She bowed shallowly. “I assume you’re not here to make amends,” she wrinkled her nose. “What are you wearing, Castiel?”

Cas looked down at his leather jacket and jeans. “I am told my new aesthetic is called ‘punk’.”

Dean couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. 

Rachel turned her dark eyes on him. Her pretty face twisted into a snarl. “Winchester. I should strike you down where you stand.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Kind of hostile, don’t you think?”

“You caused the slaughter of thousands of angels,” Rachel clenched her fists. “Most of whom are still trapped in Hell, battling for their lives.”

“Your side started the war,” Dean argued. “I only finished it.”

“Please,” Cas placed a hand on Dean’s chest and stepped between him and Rachel. “We are here on a mission of mercy.”

“Mercy,” Rachel laughed. “What would a Winchester know of mercy?”

“Perhaps you should wait elsewhere,” Cas murmured. 

“No,” Dean snapped, pushing Cas’ hand aside. “I’m here for Sam, and I’m not leaving until I find him.”

Rachel blinked. “What does Heaven have to do with Sam Winchester?”

“His soul is missing,” Cas explained. “It is not on earth.”

Rachel’s eyes glittered. “You think Sam ascended to Heaven?” 

“He’s human. He has a soul. It has to go somewhere.” Dean reasoned.

“Yes. And it didn’t come to Heaven,” Rachel sneered. “So…?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “No.”

Rachel chuckled darkly. “There is not other option, not for human souls.”

“No, he can’t be-,” Dean stammered.

“Winchester,” Rachel snapped. “Sam is in Hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Life is a bit of a non-stop roller coaster right now. I'm not writing nearly as much as I'd like to be. I'll update when I have chapters ready, but please be patient with me.


	5. A Whimper and a Bang

Dean drove all day and all night. Cas offered to drive, to give Dean a break, but he couldn’t do it. Every time Dean closed his eyes he thought of Sam’s soul in Hell. Being tortured by demons. Hurting. Alone. 

Dean needed Bobby right then. Bobby would know how to summon the right demon to reunite Sam with his soul. Time was running out. Dean felt it in his bones. Sam had one more day. Twenty-four hours. 

Dawn crested the highway. Clouds blushing pink met the blacktop. The light did not disturb a sleeping Castiel.

Dean’s eyes flickered to the ex-angel snoring against the window. Cas’ new humanity still jarred Dean. He thought of Cas as an angel first and foremost. To not call him that anymore felt like sticking a shoe on the wrong foot. Cas sleeping, Cas eating, Cas riding his ridiculous motorbike; it all felt wrong. 

Cas let out a window rattling snore. Dean chuckled to himself. 

A thought struck Dean. He wondered if Cas might have a direct line to Crowley. Cas had made a deal with Crowley, once upon a time. Maybe he had an idea how to get a hold of the King of Hell. 

“Cas,” Dean tapped the ex-angel’s shoulder. Cas snuffled. He blinked, his brow furrowing with disorientation. 

“Where are we?” Cas rasped. He stretched his hands over his head and worked a kink in his neck.

“Somewhere in Kansas,” Dean distractedly answered. “Look, Cas, have you got any idea how to contact Crowley?”

“Crowley?” Cas frowned.

“Yeah,” Dean barely glanced at the road. “He’ll know where Sam’s soul is and how to put it back where it belongs. You summoned him once, when you sold your grace. How did you dial 1-800-Hell?”

Cas stared out the window at the trees whipping by. “It doesn’t matter. We couldn’t do it now, not without a power source akin to Heaven’s light.”

“It was a long shot,” Dean admitted. He ignored the way the hope fluttering in his chest plummeted. 

Dean’s phone rang. Dean slapped it off the dashboard. “Hello?” Dean answered.

“Dean,” Bobby’s voice sounded distorted over the speaker. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Dean exchanged a confused glance with Cas. “Bobby, what’s up?”

“Sam,” Bobby’s breath rattled over the phone. “Sam is gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?” Dean pressed hard on the accelerator. “We’re almost there, Bobby. We have an idea. If we summon a demon-,”

“Dean,” Bobby interrupted. “Sam is dead.”

***

Dean didn’t remember how he got back to the motel. The trip existed in his mind as a blank spot, a skip on the record. His head filled instead with Sam. Sam’s closed eyes. The eyelids blue. Sam unnaturally still. The fingers of Sam’s hands folded over his chest. 

The body remained on the bed. Dean sat hard at the kitchenette table with his back to the bed. Dean couldn’t look at the shell that used to be his brother. 

“We were supposed to have more time,” he whispered. 

Bobby clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He poured a fifth of whiskey into Dean untouched glass. 

Cas quietly offered to go pick up some food. His exit stirred Dean into lifting his whiskey to his lips. He set the glass back down, undrunk. Dean stood, suddenly unable to keep still. Once he was up, Dean didn’t know what to do with himself. He walked to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet without seeing the contents. He wandered to the fridge and stared into its cold depths. Bobby’s hand closed over the fridge door and shut it gently. 

Dean realised he’d been avoiding Bobby in this tiny hotel room. He refused to meet Bobby’s gaze.

“Now what?” Bobby asked. 

“What?” Dean wiped his eyes.

“What are you going to do now?” Bobby pressed.

“Nothing,” Dean said. His voice sounded distant. “Sam is gone. I’m done.”

Bobby grabbed Dean roughly by the shoulders and shook him. Dean’s hands came up automatically to tug at Bobby’s hold. 

“Do you feel that?” Bobby asked. He shook Dean again. “Feel that? That means you’re still alive. And as long as you and I draw breath, we ain’t quitting, got it?”

“No,” Dean shoved Bobby off him. “I’m serious, Bobby. I’m finished. I’m packing my bag, and I’m leaving.”

“Then you best put a bullet in my head on your way out,” Bobby growled.

Dean stuttered to a halt. “You don’t mean that.”

“Bull,” Bobby spat. “If you’re nothing without Sam, what do you think I am without you boys? Do you know how close I was to jumping in an open grave before you boys came along? Where do you think I’ll end up when you leave?”

“Don’t,” Dean couldn’t look at Bobby. “Don’t guilt me into staying.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Bobby’s voice softened. “It’s just you and me left.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dean swiped at his eyes. “Yeah.” He sat down again. Bobby patted his shoulder. Dean fell into another numb trance. He was aware of Cas’ return. Bobby made dinner. Dean noticed the plate placed in front of him, though he didn’t touch it. The sky darkened. Time passed without Dean. He was lost in the deep currents of grief. Sam couldn’t be gone. Dean without Sam was nothing, and so Sam couldn’t be gone because Dean still lived. Every breath pulled into his lungs widened the gulf between the end of Sam’s life and Dean continued existence. Dean stayed in the chair long after Cas and Bobby turned out the light and went to bed. 

Three in the morning came and went. Dean stood up. He grabbed his keys and walked out. The keys rattled in his hand as he crunched over the driveway to the Impala. The engine purred. The tires dug a rut on their way out of the parking lot. The painted yellow highway lines crisscrossed Dean’s vision. He drove until the horizon pinked with dawn. Dean pulled over into a field and waited. His phone rang.

“Bobby,” Dean answered.

“You ungrateful son of a-,”

Dean interrupted. “I’m getting him back.”

“Whatever deal you’re thinking of making, don’t do it,” Bobby warned.

“I’ll bring him home, Bobby,” Dean said. “I promise. Stay out of my way.”

Dean hung up. He tossed his phone into the grass and got back into the driver’s seat. 

The open road beckoned. The light at the end might be hellfire, but if that’s where Sam was, Dean would drive with his pedal to the metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again; with me killing off main characters. Sorry


	6. Cross Purposes

Dean found a crossroads surrounded by tall trees. He parked the Impala in the ditch. Dean’s plan was half-baked at best. But he didn’t have Bobby’s expertise, or Cas’ finesse. He only had the Winchester gumption to help him.

Dean rummaged in his glove box. He pushed aside the reclaimed tin containing his angel feather. Underneath Bobby’s hunting journal Dean found the cold iron he was looking for. His hand closed over the grip of the Colt. Dean withdrew the gun. He slipped it into his waistband and got out of the car. 

Dean could hardly see the lines he drew on the blacktop in white chalk. His entire mind occupied itself with thoughts of Sam. Dean kept trying to tell himself that it wouldn’t be long. He’d make a deal. Sam would be okay. He’d be back. Dean would barter anything for Sam. Anything.

Dean placed a candle at each of the cardinal directions of his crude chalk circle. His hands shook as he struck a match. Dean knelt and lit the candles. He leaned back on his heels and closed his eyes. He chanted the incantation.

Dean opened his eyes. A man in a pinstriped suit and a blonde goatee stood on the other side of the circle.

“Winchester? What a surprise,” the man grinned. “How can I help you?”

“I want to make a deal,” Dean stood.

“Obviously,” the demon flicked his eyes at the occult mess on the road. 

“I want Sam back from Hell. Name your price,” Dean said.

The demon chuckled. Dean lifted his chin in defiance.

“Sam isn’t coming back from Hell,” the demon said. “New rules. No one comes back from the dead. No one.”

“I said name your price,” Dean growled.

“I can’t help you, Winchester,” the demon smirked.

“Then I’ll talk to someone else,” Dean said.

“There is no one-.”

The demon did not get a chance to finish. Dean whipped out the Colt. He fired. The bullet slammed into the demon’s forehead. He stuttered and crumpled into a mess.

Dean kicked the body aside. He redrew the circle. Re-lit the candles. Chanted the spell again. 

A woman in a slinky black dress stepped out from behind a tree. Her chalky skin juxtaposed her ink dark ringlet curls. 

“Winchester,” the demon smiled with bared teeth. “I’m a lucky girl, aren’t I?” Her gaze dropped to the dead demon at Dean’s feet. The smile melted from her face. “What is this?” She hissed. 

“He wasn’t helpful,” Dean said. “Maybe you’ll be more cooperative.”

“What do you want?” The demon shifted her feet.

“Sam,” Dean demanded. 

The demon snorted. “I can’t resurrect people, Dean.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can,” Dean lifted the Colt. 

“Wait!” The demon shrieked. “You’re not going to get anywhere like this. We can’t raise the dead. No one can! It’s against the rules.”

“Make an exception,” Dean ground out.

The demon shook her head. “I can’t.”

Dean puled the trigger. The bullet sparked as it lodged in the demon’s chest. She gasped and fell.

Dean redrew the circle. He re-lit the candles. He said the incantation again.

The demon who answered the call flickered black eyes at Dean as she rose from the ground. “Hello, sugar. What can I do for you?”

“I want my brother back. Sam,” Dean said. 

The demon frowned. She stepped closer, squinting at Dean’s face. “You’re the Winchester brat, aren’t you?”

“Does it matter? Dean asked. “Sam. Now.”

“No can do, sugar. There’s rules.”

“Wrong answer,” Dean lifted the Colt. She didn’t get a chance to scream. Dean shoved the body out of his circle. 

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” The posh British accent steeled Dean’s spine. He turned slowly. Crowley, King of Hell, kicked at one of the demon corpses. 

“I’m looking to make a deal,” Dean said.

“So you kill my contractors?” Crowley frowned.

“They didn’t give me what I want,” Dean said. He pointed the Colt between Crowley’s eyes. “Maybe you’ll give me what I ask for.”

“Hold up, Sparky!” Crowley lifted his hands in surrender. “Let’s not do anything rash. Tell me what you need.”

“I need Sam back,” Dean choked between gritted teeth. Tears streamed down his cheeks unbidden. “Give him to me, or I swear Crowley, I will end you.”

“Now, normally,” Crowley explained, panic edging his voice. “I’d say what the hell, have the boy. But there’s protocols, see?”

Dean cocked the gun. “You’re the King of Hell. You have the juice.”

“Alright!” Crowley shouted. “Yes, I could bring Sam back. But for this to work, we’d have to make a deal. You have to offer something in return.”

“I’m offering not to kill you,” Dean sneered.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Crowley admitted.

“Fine!” Dean shouted. “Take me! My soul for Sam’s. Just-,” Dean’s breath hitched. “Just bring him back.”

“I can’t!”

“Then what use are you?” Dean fired the Colt. The bullet slammed into Crowley’s chest. He shouted, folding in half around the wound. Dean watched without emotion. He waited from Crowley to hit the pavement like all the others. Crowley didn’t. Crowley straightened up. The demon smoothed the front of his charcoal suit with his eyes pinned to Dean’s face. Dean clenched his free hand to stop his fingers shaking.

“Darling,” Crowley purred. “I’m the King of Hell. That comes with perks. Including immunity to your little fire popper. Now,” Crowley clapped his hands together. Dean flinched involuntarily. 

“There is only one thing I’d like better than to have Dean Winchester’s soul in Hell,” Crowley said. “And that is to see Dean Winchester experiencing Hell on earth.”

Dean opened his mouth. Crowley cut across him. “I’ve just realised that I hold all the cards in this game of ours. So, I think I’ll keep dear Sammy boy as leverage. You stop mucking about with my demons, and I promise Samuel doesn’t feel the burn of Hellfire.”

“You son of a -,” Dean growled.

“Ah, ah,” Crowley warned. “Careful what you say to me, boy. You don’t have the mojo to deep fry me anymore. I hold the chips. Got it?”

“No!” Dean yelled. “I want Sam back, now!”

“Yes, I hear you,” Crowley groused. “But see, I think I have a better idea.” Crowley snapped his fingers. “Ta.” The king of Hell vanished. 

The Colt clattered to the pavement. Dean dropped his head into his hands. Tears poured between his fingers. 

Dean stayed there, kneeling on the pavement surrounded by dead demons. The ache in his knees finally pulled him from his fugue. Dean wiped his sore eyes on his sleeve. He sat back on his heels. He tipped back his head. The stars sparkled above the black tops of the trees. For the first time, Dean wished he believed in God. He wished he had the kind of hope other people did; that someone was watching over him, listening, working a plan for Dean’s good. 

Dean dragged himself to his feet. God wouldn’t help him. Dean had to help himself. At least he knew who held the chips now. A plan formed. Take out the King of Hell, get Sam back.


	7. Brace for Impact

Dean surveyed his table of instruments. The sharp edges gleamed in the low light. His fingers lingered over the hammer. Changing his mind, he passed over the bone saw and selected the wicked serrated silver knife. Dean turned in one movement and drove the knife into the leg of the monster tied to the chair in the middle of the wood panelled room. The monster screamed.

Dean twisted his knife. The shapeshifter screamed louder as the silver dug deeper into his thigh. Dean listened to the sound bounce off the walls of the old hunting cabin. No one would hear out here in the woods. The mayor’s face the monster wore dribbled in tears.

“Wait!” It shrieked. Dean let up on the knife. “I heard some demons a while back. Before Lucifer died.”

Dean said nothing. He watched the shapeshifter pant, its beard caked in blood. 

“These demons,” the shapeshifter said. “Were talking about a weapon. Something that would release Lucifer.” 

“Not interested,” Dean reached for the knife. 

“No!” The shapeshifter hollered, scrambling against its restraints. The chair scraped on the floorboards. Dean noted absently that he’d need to nail the chair down for the next monster. “You don’t understand,” the shapeshifter sobbed. “These demons said the weapon could destroy anything. Kill anything. Even an angel.”

Dean paused. He could count on one hand the things that could injure an angel. Even less that could actually waste one. He ought to know. 

“Where?” Dean demanded. 

At that moment, the cell phone sitting next to Dean’s torture instruments on the table buzzed. The shapeshifter’s eyes flicked to the device. “You gonna answer that?”

“No,” Dean said. “Tell me about the weapon.”

The phone stopped ringing. It immediately started again, rattling against a screwdriver’s handle. 

The shapeshifter wet his lips. “You should probably answer the phone. What if it’s an emergency?”

“It’s not,” Dean replied. “The weapon?”

“The called it the First Blade,” the shapeshifter explained. “Something ancient. Something from before Heaven and Hell, they said.”

“Where is it?” Dean pressed. The phone buzzed again. Dean ignored it.

The shapeshifter shook his head. His borrowed features crumpled. “I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

“I don’t believe you.” Dean yanked the knife from the shapeshifter’s thigh. It howled.

“Oops,” Dean shrugged. “I nicked your femoral artery. You have three minutes until you bleed out. Start talking.”

“Screw you!” The shapeshifter spat. Dean’s hand shot out and caught the shapeshifter’s throat. He lifted his knife until it hovered above the shapeshifter’s eye. 

“Three minutes is a long time,” Dean warned. “I can make it very unpleasant for you.”

The shapeshifter stared cross-eyed at the knife. “Okay,” It stuttered. “Okay, I’ll tell you. The demons said someone was guarding the Blade. Someone they called the Darkness.”

“Where?” Dean shouted.

“I don’t know!” The shapeshifter sobbed. “That’s the truth. I swear!”

“I believe you,” Dean lowered the knife. 

The monster expired. Dean wiped his hands on a rag. The phone vibrated again. Dean waited until it finished to pick it up. The caller ID read “Bobby Singer”. Only one message sat in his voicemail. Dean considered laying the phone back down. He had a bottle of Jack set aside to help him sleep. Funny how he’d never seen the appeal of drinking as an angel. It was hard to get drunk when your body held divine power. Now, Dean drank a bottle a night. With his veins sloshing in alcohol there was no room for memories, regrets, grief. He could lay his head down without seeing Sam’s closed eyes. Or at least, without remembering it in the morning. It all added up to the same thing. 

Dean clicked on the message.

“Dean,” Cas’ rough voice startled Dean. “It’s been weeks since we’ve heard from you. Your quest is admirable, but if you’d come home, we could work together to find a way to bring Sam back. I-,” Cas sighed, his breath rasping over the speaker. “I heard of the vampire nest you demolished. And the demons exorcised in Wyoming. I don’t understand what you hope to gain by killing monsters across the country, but if you’d just pick up the phone-,” Dean heard the restrained growl in Cas’ voice. “I need to know you’re alright from you, not from hunters who’ve seen you pass through their towns. Please. Call me back.”

Dean tossed the phone back onto the tabletop. He glanced at the bottle of Jack. No use now. The cabin was haunted by Cas’ voice. Dean grabbed his jacket from the peg beside the door. He unfastened the seven locks he’d installed on the door. Bobby would be proud, he thought ruefully. Dean exited the cramped cabin. The night air buzzed with insects. The full moon shone down on Baby waiting at the end of the dirt road. Dean got into the car and drove. The tiny town came up suddenly out of the trees. 

The lights of the two-street town’s only bar flickered. Dean entered the establishment. After the cool night air, the bar felt like a sauna. Dean ordered his beer and retreated to the dark corner booth. He sipped his drink and watched the rough crowd play pool, shoot darts, and nurse their next hangover. 

A haggard face dropped into the seat across from Dean. “Winchester?”

Dean nodded. “You Sal?”

“Yessir,” the man touched the brim of his worn Yankees cap. 

“I’m told you know something about hunting,” Dean started.

Sal scoffed. “Been wasting monsters since you was knee-high to a grasshopper, sonny. What do you want to know?”

Dean leaned across the sticky table. “Ever heard of the Darkness?”

Sal’s eyes widened. He whistled. “You really stepped in it, didn’t you?”

“Maybe. Tell me what you know.”

Sal ran a hand through his grey beard. “The Darkness is an entity from before the universe. Old as Death, they say. Maybe older.”

“How do I find them?” Dean asked.

Sal laughed, a hacking sound that raked against his skinny ribs. “What do you need the Darkness for, boy?”

Dean weighed his options. The old guy would smell a lie. And Dean respected the hell out of a guy who’d lived the hunting life long enough to have grey in his beard. “I’m going to kill the King of Hell,” Dean said.

Sal stilled. “You serious?”

“Deadly,” Dean nodded. 

Sal chewed on that for a minute. Dean watched the gears spinning in the geezer’s head. Finally, Sal looked up at Dean. “Alright. I believe you. You got a look in your eye that scares the flies off of me, I don’t mind saying.” He leaned back in his chair. “The Darkness can be summoned.”

“How?” Dean demanded.

“You’re not going to like it,” Sal warned. 

“I already don’t like where I am,” Dean said. “Just tell me.”

Sal nodded. He told Dean. He talked long passed the other patrons had stumbled outside and the bartender shot them dirty looks. Sal told Dean a story too unreal to be false. 

Sal stood. He looked down on Dean with pity in his eyes. “Don’t contact me again, Winchester.”

Dean nodded. 

“Good luck,” Sal left the bar. 

Dean went outside. He leaned against Baby’s hood. He let out a breath that turned to icy white in front of his face. Dean realised his hands were shaking.


	8. Valley of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for self-harm in this chapter

Dean drove to the place Sal described. The old coot refused to write down the instructions. He’d been more paranoid than Bobby. Instead, he’d repeated the instructions until Dean could parrot them back. Dean chanted the instructions to himself as he drove all night.

He arrived at the spot just as the sun began burning the silver mist off the heads of the endless golden wheat fields. The waving crops ended abruptly. A gouge in the earth opened as though a meteor had struck the ground. Dean pulled over in the ditch. 

The dirt crunched under his boots, dry as death. 

The ritual itself was simple. The hunter’s supplies in the trunk held everything Dean needed. Almost. Dean opened the trunk, pulled out what he needed, and knelt in the dirt. He arranged the surprisingly simple spell. As he worked, Dean couldn’t help but think of Sam. Sam loved spell-work. The nerd knew every use for yarrow and grave dirt. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of the history of witchcraft and its usages. Dean missed him. 

The thought slammed into Dean’s chest so hard he had to sit back on his heels. Dean bowed his head and breathed through the grief. Hell, he missed Sam. So much. Missed his laugh at Dean’s pranks. Missed bickering over movies. They’d never been apart this long. Sam had always been Dean’s shadow. Even when Heaven had taken Dean, he’d known Sam was out there. He could feel his brother in his chest. Now his ribs ached with emptiness. His thoughts were quiet without Sam’s brushing up against his own. 

That’s why this had to work. Dean couldn’t survive much longer without Sam. He could feel the desolation in his bones. The wound left behind by Sam’s removal would not heal. It only festered. Death waited if Dean couldn’t get Sam back.  
Dean shook himself and returned to the ritual. It waited for the last ingredient. Blood. Dean removed the demon blade from his belt. He breathed evenly through his nose. The slash cut deep enough into his wrist to gush. Blood dripped over the sigils Dean had written into the dirt. Dean recited the ancient words Sal had taught him.

“I name the Darkness… Amara,” Dean finished. He waited. Nothing happened. For a second, Dean wondered if his blood might not work. The spell required human blood. Dean wasn’t entirely sure he counted as human.

“I never should have let my fool brother write my name down,” a voice said. Dean whirled around. A woman in a long black dress scowled. “My brother had the sense to never reveal his name to humanity. He never gets summoned involuntarily to this dirt ball.”

Dean looked the woman up and down. Her slim figure held a power Dean could feel even without his angel sensitivities. Her dark eyes, framed by brown ringlet curls, pinned Dean in place. 

“I’m looking for the Darkness,” Dean said.

“You’ve found her,” the woman replied.

Dean appraised her again. She stood confidently, not interested in whether Dean believed her or not. “You’re Amara?”

The woman pursed her lips. “That’s a little forward, but I suppose I am a bit old fashioned compared to you. What do you want, Dean Winchester?”

“You know me?” Dean startled.

Amara rolled her eyes. “When someone does battle against Heaven itself, even beings such as myself tend to take notice. What do you want?”

“A Prince of Hell named Dagon sent me,” Dean lied.

Amara’s eyes burned fierce. “I am older than Heaven or Hell, Dean Winchester. Don’t try to play me.”

Dean gulped. “Fair enough. I’ll tell you straight. My brother Sam is… gone. I’m getting him back. I need an edge to face the King of Hell.”

Amara chuckled. “And you came to me. Clever boy,” she stepped into Dean’s personal space. Dean forced himself not to turn as she circled him. Amara’s fingernails traced the back of Dean’s neck. He tried not to think how easily she could snap his spine.

Amara leaned close. Her breath tickled his ear. “I could give you something that would ensure you won a fight against any being in the universe.” 

Dean’s heart pounded. “I sense a ‘but’.”

“But,” Amara’s voice curled in a smile. “You won’t like the result. What I’m offering would be an eternity of pain and suffering.”

“But Sam would be alive,” Dean said.

Amara slid around to face him. She nodded.

“Then I’ll take it. No matter the cost.”

Hunger burned in Amara’s eyes. She licked her lips. “You are something unique in the universe, Dean. I know every soul is different,” she waved her hand dismissively. “But you are truly, undeniably special.” 

Chills ran down Dean’s spine. He swallowed hard. “What kind of weapon would you give me?”

Amara tsked. “Nothing is free in this life, Dean. And besides, I don’t have it with me right now. First, you’ll have to prove you can handle something as precious as the First Blade.”

“Shoot,” Dean nodded.

Amara’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so eager. It’s not a simple task.”

“Just tell me,” Dean growled, his patience worn thin. 

Amara sniffed. “There’s a little problem of mine living in a shack a few miles from here. Go there. Kill the monster. When you’re finished, I’ll have the Blade.”

Amara twisted her wrist. A piece of paper materialised in her hand. She extended it to Dean. An address scrawled across the paper. Dean looked back up. Amara was gone. 

As promised, the cabin Amara described sat just up the dirt road. Dean intended to drive all the way to the front door. Instead, he groaned halfway up an ill maintained gravel road. A felled tree blocked the road. Dean jerked Baby into park. He exited the car with caution, one hand on the gun at his hip. Nothing threatened to jump down from the trees. Dean continued up the road on foot.

The cabin came suddenly into view around the corner. It looked worse than the shack Dean had tortured the shapeshifter in. The roof sagged and the front steps needed a tune up. It didn’t look like anyone was home. Dean skipped the cracked middle step as he slunk up to the door. He tried the knob. Locked. It was embarrassingly short work to pick the lock. Dean opened the door.

A TV fizzed with static in front of a scratchy plaid recliner. Dean scanned the single room. It was empty. Dean eased inside, pulling the door shut behind him. A toilet flushed behind the only other door. The door opened. Dean gripped his demon knife. 

A man in a shaggy dressing gown with frizzy hair and an unkempt beard ambled out of the bathroom. He halted when he saw Dean. The man stood with his mouth hanging open in the middle of the cabin. “Dean Winchester?”

Dean shoved the bizarreness aside. He had a job to do. Get it over with. Dean advanced, demon knife ready.

“Woah, woah!” The man backpedalled, running into his armchair. The held out his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Damn right you’re not,” Dean snarled. He curled his lip and lunged. The man yelped and dodged, tripping over his coffee table. He scrambled back up. Dean caught him by his collar. 

“Wait!” The man screamed. “Amara sent you to kill me, but I know something you don’t! Something about Sam.”

Dean froze. “What do you know about Sam?”

The man elbowed Dean in the chin. In surprise, Dean let go of the man. He scampered into the corner, grabbing the TV remote and holding it out like a weapon. 

“Tell me what you know!” Dean demanded. He hefted the knife.

The man squeaked. “Okay, so I might have an insane amount of knowledge about you and your brother, but before you freak out-,”

“Tell me!” Dean shouted. 

“Sam is going to betray you!” The man sobbed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know when or how-,” 

“My brother is dead!” Dean roared. “And your death ensures I get him back. So, if you think there is anything I won’t do, then you are one clueless monster.”

“I’m not a monster,” the man said. He straightened. “I’m human. Just as human as you. My name is Chuck.”

Dean faltered. “I don’t believe you.”

Chuck held out his hand, palm up. “Test me if you like. Silver, iron, salt, holy water. Go to town. I assure you, it won’t make a difference.”

Dean refused to be convinced. He kept his knife up. “Why would Amara care about some human?”

“Because I’m her brother.”

Dean stared. He blinked and blinked again. “No,” he growled. “That’s not possible. She’s-,”

“Crazy?” Chuck interrupted. “Immortal? All powerful? So was I. I gave it up.”

“Why?” Dean couldn’t stop the word slipping out of his mouth.

The man’s eyes flashed. “Why did you?”

Dean swallowed hard. “You know about me?”

Chuck shrugged. “I may not be what I was, but I still get the news reels. You gave up your own grace to save Sam and Cas and Bobby. How noble,” he tipped his head back. “I wish I had that courage, Dean.”

Dean relaxed his stance at last. “Listen man, you seem all kinds of weird, no offense.”

Chuck shrugged.

“But,” Dean continued. “I was sent to kill you. And if I don’t, Amara won’t give me what I need to get my brother back.”

“Amara,” Chuck scoffed. He tossed the TV remote in his hand aside. “She’s too scared to face me, so she sends assassins every few years.”

“And you survive?” Dean couldn’t help judging the scruffy beard and scrawny body. 

Chuck met Dean’s critical eye. “Just because I’m human now, doesn’t mean I can’t change back.”

Dean scrubbed his face while he ruminated. Dean surveyed the cabin. Chuck’s scruffy demeaner made more sense the more he looked. Surplus food cans stacked against the shelves. A lumpy cot lay in the corner, and boxes labeled as kerosene oil lined the walls. Honestly, if Dean had to design a cliched safehouse, he wouldn’t change a thing. Chuck couldn’t possibly live like this by choice. He was hiding. From Amara. 

“I can’t do this,” Dean decided. His shoulders slumped. “What am I going to do now?”

Chuck cleared his throat. “You can come with me to see my sister.”

“What?” Dean’s head snapped up. “But she’ll kill you.”

Chuck smirked. “She’s welcome to try.” He patted his pockets, glancing around as if searching for his keys. Or maybe his dignity. “Oaky, ready.” Chuck strolled passed Dean. He slapped Dean on the back. “Come on. Let’s go reunite some siblings.” Chuck trundled out the front door.

Dean stood for just a second in the center of the hermit cabin. He gathered the threads of his sanity and blew out a breath. Okay, time to reconcile two all-powerful beings. Sure, why not?

Dean drove back to Amara’s spot. Chuck sucked in a breath as Dean parked. Through the windshield, Amara stood waiting. 

“That’s her, huh?”

Dean looked sharply at Chuck. “You don’t recognise her?”

Chuck shrugged. “Last time I saw her, she was an amorphous mass of potential energy existing in a vacuum.” Chuck left Dean bewildered and blinking in the car.   
Dean shouldered the weirdness and followed. 

Amara looked at Chuck like a cockroach under her heel. “Brother,” she snarled. 

“Sister,” Chuck tried smiling. It came out looking like gas. Dean shifted on his feet like the awkward chaperone at a school dance. Amara pinned him in place with eyes like daggers. 

“You were supposed to kill him.”

Dean shrugged. “Pretty sure I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Amara pursed her lips. 

Chuck took a step towards her. Dean was surprised the space between them didn’t scorch with the heat of her scowl.

“Why are we doing this, Amara?” Chuck asked. 

“You started it,” Amara snapped. “Locking me up was not nice. I’m only returning the favour.”

Chuck sighed. “Aren’t you tired?”

Tears gathered in Amara’s eyes. At first, Dean thought her mascara was running. With a jolt, he realised the black staining her face were her tears.

“How could you give up on me?” She cried. Black ooze trickled down her cheeks. 

Chuck sagged. “It just got so hard. The universe doesn’t need us anymore, Amara. It runs itself. And I was… tired. Of the cries for help, and the rules not to interfere, and the pain of being omniscient. Humanity is horrible to each other. And I just didn’t want to watch anymore. I just wanted to breathe again.”

Amara sniffled. She wiped her eyes, smearing the black all over her face like some kind of warpaint. 

“Amara,” Chuck said softly. “You have me. You have me for forever. But Dean still needs his brother. Give him the Blade.”

Amara nodded. She twisted her wrist. The First Blade appeared in her hand. 

Dean stared at the rudimentary bone weapon. “Is that-?”

“The First Blade,” Amara nodded. “It was given to Cain in the old days. Beware, it comes with a price.”

“Whatever it takes,” Dean said. He reached out. 

Amara pulled back. “You don’t understand. The Blade will give you power, but it will make demands of you. You will have to be strong not to lose yourself to it. I crafted this Blade to protect Cain from Death himself.”

Dean swallowed hard. He extended his hand. The smooth bone handle felt ice cold to the touch. Dean gripped it tighter. Electricity raced up Dean’s arm. He gasped. His forearm burned. Steam rose from Dean’s arm. He yelped.

“Don’t let go,” Amara snapped. 

Dean tightened his fist. He clenched his teeth against the pain. At last, the burning ebbed to a sting. Dean gasped for breath. He rolled up his sleeve. A red, angry brand stood livid on the inside of his arm.

“What the hell is this?” Dean gasped. He touched the rune shaped like a jagged knife. It tingled, like touching a power socket.

“The Mark of Cain,” Amara answered. “Chuck and I combined our powers to save Cain’s life from those who would revenge themselves on him.”

“Why?” Dean looked at Chuck. “Cain killed his brother.”

Chuck’s eyes turned down at the corners. “I’d already lost one of my newest creations. I couldn’t bear to lose another, no matter what he’d done.”

Dean nodded. “I think I understand.”

“You don’t,” Chuck snapped. His voice softened. “Wield the Blade wisely. It’s a devastating weapon in the wrong hands.”

Chuck extended a hand for Dean to shake. Chuck’s hand burned like fire. He met Dean’s gaze with bright intensity. “Don’t die.”


	9. Winchester Luck

Dean held the First Blade loosely as he talked with Chuck. “Any chance you can drop me off on Hell’s doorstep?”

Chuck frowned. He twisted towards Amara. She nodded. 

Dean didn’t have to time to yelp. The ground dropped out from under his feet. He landed hard in the middle of a gravel road. Dean frantically spun, looking for a clue as to where he was. He stood in the center of a crossroads. Nothing, not even a street sign, broke the endless waves of grassland stretching towards the horizon. Something sickly affected the stalks of grain. They grew twisted, in bundles of dried grey spines. 

Amara appeared just as suddenly beside Dean. “Do you know where we are?” She asked.

Dean shook his head.

“This is the first crossroads,” Amara said. She faced east, where the sky darkened. “The very first demon deal on American soil was made here.” She turned her bottomless eyes on Dean. “Things like that leave an impression on the world. There is a gate into Hell here.” She snapped her fingers. 

The ground split open like a wound. Dean leaped back. The hot stench of sulphur clogged his nose. Through watering eyes, Dean watched the sinkhole drop on and on, into blackness somehow tinged with red, like the heat of the earth’s center wafted up. 

“Your cause is worthy,” Amara said over the rush of the abyss. “But I fear it will only bring you pain.”

Dean lifted his chin. “Then we both understand making sacrifices for our brothers.”

Amara smirked. “Good luck, Dean Winchester.”

Dean looked down into the abyss. His stomach threatened to lodge in his throat just from looking. No stairs wound into the darkness. “Here goes nothing,” Dean muttered. He jumped.

Dean fell for an eon. The rushing in his ears and the wind in his eyes stung. He twisted end over end. Dean prayed he wouldn’t smash like a melon when he met the inevitable ground. Blackness curled around him. Dean had never fully appreciated all the shades of black until that moment. Shadows layered on shadows gave texture to the never-ending pit. Dean finally decided he would never actually reach the ground, when something slammed into him. 

Dean yelled. Whatever it was gripped Dean around the middle with claws that dragged through his clothes and pierced his skin. Dean struggled. The claws tightened. Dean paused, the mental image of one of those talons sliding between his ribs freezing him in place. 

A leathery flapping sound interrupted the screech of falling. Dean’s descent reversed. The creature flew. Dean grappled with keeping his hold on the First Blade. Gradually, he registered something other than blackness. The creature brought Dean towards a glowing red heat. At first, Dean thought it was a volcano. As they drew nearer, Dean realised it was a colossal castle. Spires, towers, and columns shot up out of the structure without rhyme or reason, giving it an appearance of bristling fangs. A line from Milton flittered through Dean’s mind: “Pandemonium, the palace of Satan rises, suddenly built of the deep; the infernal peers there sit in council.”  
Dean twisted, finally catching a glimpse of his captor. He nearly choked. Wings like a bat sprouted out of limbs knotted with muscle and ending in wicked claws. A head like a pterodactyl faced forward, completely ignoring Dean. Minus the horns, the monster looked like every stereotypical painting of a demon ever. 

The bat monster suddenly dove. Dean’s heart leaped into his throat. They streaked straight at one of the palace’s towers. Dean braced for impact. He squeezed his eyes shut. The wind continued rushing through his ears. Dean blinked his eyes open. They whizzed through a tunnel. Dean wiggled, casting a look behind him. An opening up above glowed angry red. Dean realised the tower was actually a funnel the demon had leaped into. They now soared down, down, down into the annals of the palace. The tunnel opened into a cavern. Dean had barely a glance before they shot into another tunnel. Dean lost count of how many twists and turns they took now. He only knew they continued down. The monster piloted expertly around hairpin turns towards its ultimate destination. 

Finally, the monster zoomed into a cavern and flapped to a halt. Dean jerked in its claws. He almost lost hold of the First Blade. The monster released Dean.

Dean fell, his knees scraping on a stone floor. The monster screeched and flapped back the way it came. Dean lifted his head. Flames wreathed the perimeter of the room. A red carpet trained the length of the room, leading to a dais. A golden throne rose out of the stone. Draped over the throne sat the last person Dean wanted to see right now. Red eyes glowed in the dimness.

“Winchester,” Crowley drawled. “Welcome to Hell.”

Dean scraped himself to his feet. “Crowley. I’m here for Sam.”

“So I gathered,” Crowley drawled. He lifted a goblet to his lips. His mouth came away stained red. Somehow Dean doubted the goblet contained wine. 

“Unfortunately,” Crowley said. “I am not at liberty to release any souls at the moment. Sorry you’ve wasted a trip. Be a dear and show yourself out.”

“That’s it?” Dean growled. “You’re too scared to offer me the time to barter?”

“Scared?” Crowley hissed. The red in his eyes flamed. “Of a boy? Hardly. But why not? Let’s hear what the great Dean Winchester has to offer.” Crowley leaned back and crossed his ankles.

Dean’s mouth suddenly went bone dry. He swallowed hard. “I’ll make you the same deal I offered you before. Your life for Sam’s.”

A hissing filled the throne room. The flickering flames around the perimeter of the room suddenly manifested into demons. They stood just beyond the fires, watching, judging. Hungry. 

Crowley opened his mouth in an exaggerated yawn. “Boring. How about this?”

Crowley moved inhumanly fast. His hand gripped the back of Dean’s neck before Dean realised what had happened. Crowley leaned into Dean’s ear. “Here’s my deal. I make a new circle of Hell just for you where you get to watch Sam tortured over and over and over for eternity.”

Crowley waved his hand. A shape formed in front of Dean’s eyes. A figure knelt on the stone floor. The person lifted his head. Dean knew those eyes anywhere.

“Sam,” Dean gasped. He thrashed in Crowley’s grip. Crowley tightened his hold until Dean saw stars.

Sam solidified from vapour to reality. He blinked at the throne room. “Dean?”

“I’m here,” Dean choked. 

Sam’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”

Crowley answered, “Your dear brother seems to think he can trade places with you, Sammy-boy.”

“No,” Sam shook his head. “No, Dean I won’t let you.”

Crowley clicked his tongue. “Looks like you’re out of luck,” he said into Dean’s ear.

“Not yet,” Dean twisted hard. He freed an arm just enough to pull the First Blade up into an arc, aiming for Crowley’s neck. Crowley shoved Dean away from him. 

“What is that?” Crowley hissed. His red eyes blazed.

Dean twirled the Blade in his hand. “This? This is my insurance policy. A little something to gank your demon filth.”

Crowley scoffed. “I’m the King of Hell, Winchester. I told you before that the title comes with perks. You couldn’t possibly have gotten hold of anything that might kill me.”

“You want to bet on it?” Dean stalked closer. “I hear demons love a good gamble. How about it, Crowley? Want to go toe to toe?”

The smoky demons around the room cackled. Crowley’s eyes flickered briefly towards them. Dean pressed his chance.

“One on One,” Dean offered. “Mano a mano.”

“Just you and your mortal soul versus me in all my demonic splendour?” Crowley drawled.

Dean spread his arms. “Just me as I am.”

Crowley licked his lips. “And what are your terms?”

“If I win Sam lives topside and Bobby’s deal gets torn up. No strings, no other conditions.”

“Deal,” Crowley grinned. “When I win, you and Samantha both stay in Hell. And Bobby’s contract terminates early.”

“No!” Sam shouted. 

“Done,” Dean agreed. He ignored Sam’s protest. 

Crowley descended the steps of his throne. He flicked his wrist and a wicked knife gleamed in his hand. The various demons and attendants backed into the corners of the room. Dean and Crowley circled each other, prowling, assessing, waiting like coiled springs.

Crowley moved. His blade clanged against Dean’s. Dean gasped at the strength behind Crowley’s strike. He stumbled back. Crowley pressed his advantage, his knife diving, seeking out Dean’s weakness. It slashed through Dean’s sleeve. A river of blood poured down Dean’s arm.

“I’m curious how you thought you would win,” Crowley smirked.

“I’m counting on the Winchester luck,” Dean grunted.

He struck, the First Blade’s crude edge scraping along Crowley’s parry. It was clear to everyone, including Dean, that Crowley was the faster, stronger, cleverer of the two. What happened next was inevitable. 

Crowley’s blade sank into Dean’s chest. 

Sam screamed. 

Dean crumpled. 

His head hit the stone floor. Blood pooled. His fingers went cold. Dean’s knife rolled away from his still body. His eyes fluttered closed. 

“So much for the Winchester luck,” Crowley chuckled. He stepped over Dean’s body. 

A scraping sound drew Crowley’s attention. 

Dean rose. 

Crowley stumbled backwards. “Impossible,” he breathed.

“I forgot to tell you,” Dean rolled up his sleeve. “I can’t die.”

Crowley roared. 

The Mark of Cain glowed red hot, searing Dean’s flesh. It pumped heat straight into his blood. Dean’s head spun with the power that flooded his limbs. 

The First Blade sang as it swung through the air. The Blade found its mark deep in Crowley’ heart. The demon choked on the blood that dribbled between his lips. 

Dean leaned into Crowley’s ear. “Winchesters make their own luck.”

He let go. Crowley’s body hit the floor with a thud of finality. 

Dean’s chest heaved. He won. The King lay dead at his feet. 

Dean looked up at the throne of Hell. “To the victor, the spoils,” he muttered. 

Dean ascended the steps, one at a time. The power of Hell flooded through him. It was intoxicating. Fire licked his senses. Every step felt like a triumph. Blood would flow. Skulls would crush under his feet.

Dean sat on his throne. “The King is dead,” he declared.

The demons swarmed the base of the throne and fell to their knees. “Long live the King!” They shouted. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice wavered. 

Dean closed his eyes. He turned his face towards Sam. He opened his eyes. Black like the depths of the pit itself blinked back. 

“No,” Sam sobbed. “Dean, please.”

“Good-bye Sammy.”

Dean snapped his fingers.


	10. Back From the Brink

Sam crashed onto a worn red carpet that smelled like spilled whiskey and cigarettes. Loud cussing filled his ears as he hit the carpet. He lay there, his world torn apart. Dean was gone. Worse than dead. 

A pair of hands dragged Sam up. He knew those hands. Rough palms, thick fingers, skin tough as iron. They’d pulled him up when he skinned his knee riding a bike. They’d ruffled his hair whenever he felt down. Those hands had adjusted Sam’s grip on his first gun. Those hands were home.

“Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes,” Bobby wrapped Sam in a hug. Sam stayed stiff as a board. Over Bobby’s head, he took in the room. Two beds with questionably clean sheets, a television that had survived the eighties beside a kitchenette older than Sam, and a ratty bathroom through a half-opened door. Sam had cruised enough hotels rooms to recognise the décor. Only thing the pattern on the bedside lamps and the arrangement of the windows ever changed.

“Where are we?” Sam asked. He meant the state, not the hotel room.

Bobby pulled back. “Never mind that right now. Come here, sit. You’re cold as ice.”

Bobby dragged Sam down onto the square inch of bed not occupied by thick lore books.

“Where’s Dean?” Bobby asked.

A sob clogged Sam’s throat. Bobby tugged Sam down into another hug. “Okay,” Bobby mumbled. “It’s okay. You’re alright.”

“No,” Sam shoved Bobby away. “It’s my fault. Dean is-,” his voice hitched. Fresh tears poured down. 

“You don’t have to say,” Bobby tried to reassure him. “We can wait-.”

“Dean’s a demon,” Sam said.

Bobby cursed. “You boys see a mess and you just have to step in it and spread it around, don’t you?”

“He saved me,” Sam tried.

“And got himself into a pickle,” Bobby snapped. He sighed and ran a hand through his beard. “What kind of deal did he make?”

Sam shook his head. “No deal.” He explained the challenge and the Mark. “Dean is the King of Hell.”

Bobby cursed again. He got up and paced a tight circle.

“You’re taking my return from the dead pretty well,” Sam observed.

Bobby shrugged. “I knew something happened when my demon deal went up in flames.”

Sam gaped. 

Bobby grimaced. “It was hard to miss. Felt like someone set off fireworks right here,” he touched his chest. “I assume that was your doing?”

Sam shook his head. “Dean. He made your contract part of the wager.”

Bobby grunted and went back to his pacing.

Sam’s mind fell back on recent events. “How are we going to rescue Dean?”

Bobby’s face darkened under his beard. “Doesn’t sound so much like a rescue as an intervention.”

“He couldn’t stop it,” Sam insisted. “The Mark changed him. He didn’t choose to be a demon.”

“Even so,” Bobby answered. “Getting him back is going to take more mojo than either of us have ever seen.” He cocked his head. “Speaking of mojo, how’s yours?”

Sam’s stomach clenched. He hadn’t thought of his magic. He closed his eyes. The warmth in his belly heated like a pot over a fire. It boiled up through his veins. Sam closed his fist. When he opened it, he held a small flame cupped in his palm. 

“Right as rain,” Sam said. 

Bobby stared mesmerized by the dazzling flame. Sam closed his fist. The light extinguished. 

“Have you heard from Cas?” Sam asked. He stood up fast. The room spun. He turned to the window to cover for the way his knees buckled. He peeked out at the street between the curtains. “What’s been happening since I… kicked the bucket? Did Dean tell you how he got into Hell?”

“Slow down,” Bobby stood too. He snagged Sam by the elbows. “You just got topside. Have a shower. Eat something. Sleep at least eight hours. Then we’ll talk.”

Sam let out a laugh that choked hallway up his throat. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.”

Bobby removed his hands like Sam had burned him. Maybe he had. His magic felt like sparks flying through his blood. Since dropping at Bobby’s feet, Sam hadn’t had a chance to think of what had happened to him. He’d died. He’d fallen into Hell. The dark silence of the Pit roared behind Sam’ eyes. Nothing could illuminate that darkness. Sam laid on frigid ice without sight, without sound, without the comfortable sizzle of his magic. With a jolt, Sam realised he hadn’t a clue how long he’d been Below. Days? Weeks? Months? Surely not years? Bobby’s grey hairs all looked the same as Sam remembered. 

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Sam said. He didn’t. He passed out. As his body hit the carpet for the second time, Sam heard a door slam open.

A voice like gravel exclaimed, “Sam?”

“Hey, Cas,” Sam slurred. He closed his eyes. Everything faded to black. Black as the Pit. Black as the eyes in the face of his brother. Staring cold and uncaring as though Dean had not just given up his life to save Sam. 

Gradually, voices began igniting like sparks in the dark. Sam chased the flames up into the light.

“What now? I cannot stay here, Bobby.”

“I think Dean on the throne of Hell takes precedent over any other matters at the moment, don’t you?”

Sam blinked. The water stained ceiling spun a lazy loop over his head. 

“Sam is awake,” Cas’ rough voice announced.

The bed dipped. Bobby’s face came into focus. Concern wrinkled his brow. Sam blinked again. 

“What happened?” Sam’s voice sounded like he’d swallowed nails.

“Can you sit up?” Bobby asked. Sam did. His body ached as though he’d been run over by a stream roller. 

“Hello Sam.”

Sam looked up. Cas stood outlined by the window. In his black leather jacket and jeans, he looked almost normal. Except for his eyes. Sam would never get used to seeing an old man’s eyes in a relatively young man’s face. Cas held himself at attention, the weight of Heaven forever on his shoulders.

Cas stepped closer. Sam stifled a gasp. Mottled purple covered the right side of Cas’ face. Sam knew meat grinders that looked better. 

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Cas frowned. “Yes, of course. Why?”

“You got a little…,” Sam pointed to his own face. Cas reached up as though he’d forgotten. It had to hurt like a sonofagun. 

“This was nothing,” Cas insisted. “A disagreement with a brother angel.”

Sam’s eyebrows crawled into his hairline. “An angel?”

Cas flicked his eyes in Bobby’s direction. “I have to go back. Heaven is in chaos.”

“We need you here,” Bobby growled.

“My loyalty is to Heaven,” Cas argued.

“Oh really?” Bobby snapped. “Since when? Last I checked, you threw your grace away for Dean. Now you’re walking out on him? On us?”

Cas raked a hand through his messy hair. “Heaven is different now,” Cas said. “After the Hell Gate incident, leadership fractured. No one is certain who is in charge anymore. Renegades are attempting to wrestle control. Not to mention, there are still thousands of angels trapped in Hell.”

“Trapped with Dean,” Sam said.

Cas jerked as if Sam had slapped him. His eyes shone. “Things are changing. I intend to make sure they change for the better.”

Cas grabbed the door handle.

“Cas, wait,” Sam jumped up. Cas watched his approach warily. Sam reached for the bruise on Cas’ cheek. “May I?”

Cas snapped a nod. Sam closed his eyes. He let the magic under his skin flow through his fingertips. It coursed out of him and over Cas’ skin. Sam flicked his fingers, like brushing away dirt. Cas gasped.

Sam opened his eyes. Cas touched the perfect new skin under his eye. 

“Thank you,” Cas rumbled. He glanced back at Bobby. “I will come back as soon as I can.”

Cas walked out. 

Sam turned to Bobby. “What do we do now?”

“I have an idea,” a new voice said from behind Bobby. 

Sam startled. He summoned a handful of fire from the pit of his stomach.

“Holy crap! Wait!” The intruder yelped. He threw his hands over his head. All Sam could see of him was his patched dressing gown and sagging white socks.

“Who are you?” Sam bellowed.

“How did you get in here?” Bobby demanded. “The room’s warded.”

The man lowered his hands. His beard and curly hair covered most of his face. Except his eyes. Sam’s stomach jolted. Cas’ eyes looked like that. Older than his face. 

“Are you an angel?” Sam demanded.

The man scoffed. “No. I’m not like anything you’ve ever seen, Sam Winchester.”

Bobby pulled a knife from his belt. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” the man shook his head. “Look, this isn’t what I planned. I’m Chuck.” He stuck out his hand. Neither Sam or Bobby moved to shake it. Chuck dropped his arm. “Right. Hunters. So, I may be responsible for Dean having the Mark of Cain.”

“What?” Sam hefted his fireball. “I should deep fry you right now.”

“Except,” Chuck held up his hands. “I know how to free him from it.”


	11. Mark of Cain for Dummies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not happy with this chapter, but we've got to keep trucking. The next one will be better

Sam stood in the middle of the motel room with a handful of magic pointed at the shaggy man studying the room service menu.

“Well?” Bobby snapped. “You gonna explain your little plan to release Dean from the Mark, or are you gonna waste all our time?”

“Fine,” Chuck tossed the room service menu aside. “The Mark of Cain works like this: The Mark gives a person the ability to wield the First Blade. The First Blade can kill anything. Anything,” he emphasised. “But there’s a price. The Mark demands payment in blood. The First Blade must be used, and regularly, or the wielder will fall into madness.”

Sam stifled a gasp. His mind flashed to the moment when Dean had plunged the First Blade into Crowley’s chest. He recalled the teeth bared grin on Dean’s face.

Chuck continued. “The Mark is so relentless that it defies even death. It won’t let its host die. That’s how Dean became a demon.”

Sam closed his eyes. His insides raged in turmoil. A hurricane rolled through him. His magic reacted, whipping into a frenzy within his veins. Sam opened his eyes. He met Chuck’s gaze. Chuck recoiled.

“You did this to Dean,” Sam said. His voice remained dangerously low. The storm in him pooled his magic into the palm of his hand. His fingers sparked.

“Sam,” Bobby’s soft voice broke through the pulsing in Sam’s ears. “Wait.”

He didn’t say stop. He said wait. Sam could wait. Wait until after Chuck explained how to save Dean before Sam burned Chuck to ash. 

Chuck sighed. “I’ll let you in on a little secret so dark most demons don’t even know it. Demons don’t feel anything. At all. Emotions are reserved for creatures of God’s grace. But hell if demons don’t want emotions. They crave them. Desperately. Like a junkie wants a fix, they can only think about the next depraved thing that might strike a spark of feeling.”

“How do you know all this?” Sam asked.

“Long story,” Chuck waved him off. “Now imagine you’ve tasted what divine power feels like. All that holy, righteous light filling your entire being to the very core. And then snuff it out, into an existence of complete darkness, blind to all sensations. It would be like ripping all your insides out with a dull spoon. That is what Dean is experiencing.”

Bobby quirked a skeptical eyebrow. “You talk a good game, Chuck. But I’ve never met a demon interested in being human.”

“I told you,” Chuck reminded him. “Most demons don’t understand their basic drives.”

“I don’t understand how this helps us,” Sam admitted.

“Because,” Chuck said. “It is possible to give demon back their humanity.”

“What?” Sam and Bobby gasped together. “How?”

“It’s not pretty,” Chuck warned. “And the Mark of Cain will fight you the whole way.”

“Just tell us,” Sam barked. His blood hummed with frustration. Dean was suffering as they spoke. Getting him back, no matter how difficult, took priority.

“There’s a spell,” Chuck said. “It can purify the soul so deeply that it can even reverse the perversion of a demon. But…” Chuck trailed off.

“What?” Sam snapped.

Chuck twisted his hands in his belt. “There’s a chance it could kill Dean.”

Bobby jumped to the conclusion of Chuck’s logic before Sam did. “If the spell kills Dean the Mark of Cain will turn him back into a demon. And endless loop.”

Chuck nodded. “You can’t let that happen. The spell is a one-time deal. No do overs.” He looked at Sam. “If Dean dies during the spell, you have to make sure he stays dead.”

Sam shook his head. Horror clogged his throat. “No. I won’t.”

“You have to,” Chuck insisted. “The Mark of Cain and the First Blade in the hands of a demon is a catastrophe unlike any you’ve ever faced. Especially because of Dean’s angel ancestry.”

Chuck scooped a notepad off the motel table. He wrote something quickly. Sam exchanged a look with Bobby. The same shell shock showed on Bobby’s face. Chuck ripped the paper off the notepad. He handed it to Bobby. 

“This is the spell,” Chuck said. “Good luck.”

Sam blinked. Chuck vanished. Sam let out a shuddering breath.

“Balls!” Bobby cursed. 

“Bobby,” Sam sagged onto the edge of the bed. “I can’t do it. I can’t kill Dean.”

Bobby grumbled as he scanned the spell.

“I’m serious!” Sam raised his voice. “We’ve been through this once already. Heaven wanted Dean and I to kill each other. We didn’t do it then, and I won’t do it now.”

Bobby set the paper down with deliberate care. “One thing at a time, Sam. I'm not even sure we should trust this Chuck fella.”

Sam’s sharp retort was cut off by the shrill ringing of his phone. Sam glared at Bobby. He picked up the phone.

“Hello?” 

A gravely voice croaked out. “Sam. Help.”


	12. Headfirst Into the Fire

Sam drove Baby to the farmhouse Cas told him about. His discomfort over driving Baby without Dean was swallowed by the fear Cas’ broken voice planted in his heart. 

“This is a trap,” Bobby said from the passenger seat.

“I know,” Sam said. He focussed on the dirt road. 

“Did Cas say what kind of monster he tangled with?” Bobby asked.

Sam shook his head. “They would only let him tell me the directions. Nothing else.”

“Be prepared,” Bobby warned. “Cas might already be dead.”

Sam grit his teeth. “Don’t say that. I can’t lose both Dean and Cas right now.” His voice cracked. “I just can’t, Bobby.”

They arrived at the farm. A house and a barn sat surrounded by apple trees. Sam pulled the Impala to a stop on the driveway beside the barn. 

Bobby surveyed their surroundings. “Sheltered,” he said. “No witnesses from the road. Plenty of spots for an ambush.”

“Great,” Sam groused. He got out of the car. Sam opened the trunk. The collection of monster killing weapons gleamed in the twilight. Sam removed the demon killing knife and a pistol full of silver bullets. 

Bobby chose his favourite shotgun and an angel blade. 

Sam checked the clip on his gun. “Ready?”

Bobby nodded, “Let’s go.”

There was no point in stealth. Their enemies knew they were coming. Sam and Bobby threw open the barn doors. Sam raised his gun. The interior of the barn was pitch black. 

Bobby clicked on a flashlight. 

Cas sat in the middle of the barn, tied tightly to a chair. His mouth was taped shut. He flinched at the sudden light. 

Sam didn’t give Cas more than a cursory glance. His focus zeroed in on the knife at Cas’ throat and the woman holding it. 

“Hello Sam Winchester,” she said. “My name is Naomi.”

Sam clicked the safety off his gun. “Let him go,” he said.

Naomi sneered. “Where’s your other half?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Not here. Let Cas go, or I will put you down.”

Naomi gave Sam a smile like a wolf. “I heard a rumour your brother is ruling Hell.”

Sam swallowed hard. 

Naomi laughed. “So, it’s true. Brilliant.”

“What do you care?” Sam frowned. 

Naomi snapped her fingers. Light flooded the barn. Sam gasped. Writing covered the walls, the floor, the wood beam of the ceiling. Symbols and sigils painted in white overlapped and interlocked. The only clear spot was a perfect circle around Cas and Naomi.

“It’s a spell,” Bobby breathed.

“What’s it for?” Sam refocused his gun on Naomi.

She bared her teeth. “When I activate the spell, it will drop us all into Hell.”

Sam blinked. He honestly hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

“Because I’m an angel. And there are thousands of my brother angels currently trapped in Hell,” Naomi said. “They need to be freed.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Sam asked.

“You want your brother back from Hell, don’t you?” The angel smirked at Sam’s frown. “Heaven doesn’t have the numbers to storm the gates of Hell. But a small, secret team could slip in unnoticed and open the gates from the inside.”

“The gates are sealed,” Sam shook his head. “If they could be opened from inside Hell, the demons would have done it.”

Naomi tutted. “There is a special gate. Demons can’t touch it. But a human could open it. We want you to go into Hell and free the angels trapped there.”

“In return for what?” Sam shook his head. “You have nothing I want.”

“Except little Castiel’s life,” Naomi tightened her grip on Cas. He stiffened in his bonds. 

Bobby moved. Before Sam could shout, Bobby surged forward. He lifted the angel blade in his hand. The angel flicked her fingers. Bobby went flying. He crashed into the wall and slumped on the ground. He didn’t move.

“How about this for a deal,” Naomi growled. “You get that gate open, or I kill your surrogate daddy right now.” She lifted her hand in Bobby's direction.

“Okay!” Sam dropped his gun. “Okay, you win.” He held his up in surrender. “No one has to get hurt. Tell me what to do.”

Naomi smiled. She extended her hand. “All you have to do is hold on tight.”

Sam came forward warily. His feet passed over the white circle on the floor. He took Naomi’s hand. Her fingers felt like ice. 

Naomi dropped her knife and started chanting. Sam glanced at Cas. The ex-angel threw Sam a look of wide-eyed panic. Sam’s heart leapt into his throat. 

Before Sam could react, the ground fell out from under him. He yelled, tightening his grip on Naomi’s hand. Her fingers slid through his like smoke. Sam found himself falling. He tumbled through what felt like water and ice.

Sam landed on something solid. His knees buckled. He sprawled on the ground. Sam opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed. Ash filled his nose. He looked up at a wasteland of barren dirt as far as he could see.

A pair of heavy boots thumped into his vision. A hand gripped Sam by the shoulder. 

“Are you alright?”

Sam rolled onto his back. Cas’ blue eyes were washed out by the grey sky, the grey dirt, the grey wind.

Cas yanked Sam to his feet. “Welcome to Hell.”


	13. The Throne of Hell

Dean sat on the throne of Hell. He slouched with his boots slung over the armrest, blood dripping from his soles onto the red leather upholstery. His lackey fidgeted to Dean’s right. Dean made no indication he cared about the demon’s unease, or the state of his own throne. Dean’s entire focus honed on the rainbow slinky twisted in his fingers. He pulled and watched it wiggle and dance. 

The demon cleared his throat. “Sir.”

“What.” Dean gave no inflection to his voice. 

“Your war chiefs are here to discuss the assault on the invading angels.”

Dean tugged the end of the slinky. Its coils bounced. 

The demon cleared his throat again. 

“Gerry. Don’t interrupt me,” Dean said without taking his eyes off the slinky.

“Sir?” The demon Gerry asked.

“What.”

“My name isn’t Gerry. It’s Arog,” Arog twisted his fingers together.

Dean snorted. “No. I don’t like it. Your name is Gerry now.”

“Um,” Arog-Gerry shifted his feet, assessing his own fate should he argue. “Yes sir,” he bowed his head.

Dean sighed. He tossed the slinky into the corner of the room. The dark swallowed its rainbow colours. “Send the war council in.”

Gerry bowed and scuttled the length of the throne room. The wide double doors groaned open. Seven demons stalked inside and arranged themselves around the foot of Dean’s throne. He surveyed them with blank, black eyes.

“So,” Dean drawled. “This is the best that Hell can come up with?”

The war chiefs exchanged furtive glances. A dark-skinned demon took the bait. “Sir,” she said. “I am Sela, general to the armies of Hell. We have created a battle plan to wipe the heavenly scum out-,”

“No,” Dean interrupted. “I don’t want them dead.”

A shift passed through the demons. 

Dean stood. “The angels trapped in hell possess a weapon that I intend to utilize against them. In order to do that, I need information. Bring me as many angels as you can, alive. Go.”

A buzz ran through the war lords. Dean snarled. “Was I not clear?”

“Sir,” Sela said. “We haven’t heard of any angelic weapon. What are we looking for?”

“I didn’t ask you to bring me the weapon. I asked you to bring me angels. If you can’t do that, I’ll find some other demons who can.”

The war chiefs shuffled from the throne room with a haze of confusion hanging over them. 

Dean threw himself down on his throne. He withdrew the First Blade. Dean contemplated its jagged edges. Such a primitive looking weapon, and yet it held the key to his power.

“Sir,” Gerry approached the throne. “What do you require of me?”

“Go away,” Dean snapped. “Don’t bother me. Don’t let anyone in here until someone brings me an angel.”

Gerry slithered out of the room, closing the giant doors behind him. 

Dean stood. He paced the base of his throne, his fist clenched around the First Blade. He growled, agitated feet scuffing blood over the polished black floors. Every other circuit Dean made around his throne, he scratched at the Mark of Cain on his arm. The Mark burned, a desperate ache demanding to be soothed. A hunger gnawed on Dean’s guts. His stomach felt like an abyss, yawning, yearning, empty. The abyss refused to be filled by food or pleasure. It demanded blood. Pain. Violence. Dean inflicted his vices on the occupants of Hell’s dungeons earlier that morning. For a few quiet hours Dean’s longing subdued. His mind cleared. Now, the infection flared. The Mark demanded payment. 

Dean ceased his pacing. Frustration roared inside him. He yelled, throwing the First Blade with all his might. It struck the black throne and sank an inch into the solid stone. 

The double doors opened.

Dean bared his teeth at the intruder. Gerry cowered. 

“Sir,” Gerry stammered. “Your generals have an angel in the cells below.”

“Finally,” Dean snarled. He wrenched the First Blade free. Dean strode passed Gerry, satisfied at the lower demon’s flinch. 

The stairs leading down to the dungeons echoed with the screams of the poor souls trapped below. Dean flicked his fingers and the first cell on his right opened. A demon stood guard inside the dark cell. On the floor in the corner a wretched excuse for a person lay in a heap of torn feathers.

“Get out,” Dean demanded. The demon bowed and closed the door behind him. 

The angel lifted her head. She would have been pretty, if not for the blood matting her red hair to the side of her face. 

“I know you,” she rasped. “Dean Winchester. When did you Fall?”

“Not so much a Fall as a head first dive,” Dean drawled. 

Her heart shaped face crumpled. “The angels are losing this war. There’s no reason to torture me.”

“Are you sure?” Dean smirked. “I’m not interested in the war. What I want from you is much simpler.”

“What do you want?” She whimpered. 

Dean’s black eyes shimmered in the dim light. “Your Grace.”


	14. A Foot on the Devil's Neck

Sam hated Hell. He supposed that was the point. The brittle grey dirt under their feet stretched as far as the red flaming sky. In the far distance, the palace of Pandemonium gouged the horizon. Without any other plan, Sam and Cas trudged towards Pandemonium. Hot wind stole the breath from Sam’s lungs. His lips cracked and bled. The wind constantly tossed dust into his stinging eyes. Every step aggravated Sam further. His gut boiled with frustration.

“You realise we’re never getting out of here?” Sam broke the deafening silence.

Cas’ head snapped up to face him. “What do you mean?”

Sam snorted. “Your pal Naomi abandoned us here with no weapons, no plan, not even directions to the gate.”

Cas pressed his lips together. “Have faith. We’ll find a way.”

“Faith?” Sam jerked to a halt. Cas stopped too. 

“Your faith got us here in the first place,” Sam spat. “You’re the one who went searching for angels. Well, guess what? They don’t care about you, Cas!”

Sam’s voice reverberated off an outcropping of black rocks. 

“Sam, please keep your voice down,” Cas said urgently. 

“Why?” Sam spread his arms wide. “Who in all of Hell is going to hear us in the desert?”

“Maybe us, sugar,” a new voice said.

Sam whipped around. 

“Well, well, well,” A dust coated woman led a band of black-eyed demons closer. “What have we here?”

A grey faced demon sniffed the arid wind. He smiled a wicked grin. “Humans?”

“Let us pass,” Cas demanded.

The demon snickered. The others joined him in a mocking circle tightening like a noose around Sam and Cas. Sam pressed his back to Cas’. He reached into his gut for his magic. “When I say so,” Sam whispered. “Run.”

The grey faced demon pounced. He extended claws, swiping for Sam’s face. Sam unleashed the coil of magic in his veins. A force like electricity slammed into the demon. It knocked him backwards into another approaching demon. Sam clenched his fists. His fingers burst into flame. 

The other demons watched his hands warily, but they did not halt their approach. Stabs and testing pokes came at Sam from all sides. He turned this way and that, sheltering Cas from the constant onslaught. With every move, Sam blocked another attack. And another. And another. Sweat poured from Sam’s limbs. He couldn’t keep this up. 

A blast of sand suddenly shot up into the air. The explosion sent several demons flying. Sam shielded his eyes. 

Out of the explosion stepped a dark-haired man. He waved at Sam and Cas. “This way!”

Sam cast an incredulous look at Cas. “Do we trust him?”

The demons attacked the man. They swirled around him; teeth bared. Wings burst from the man’s shoulders. With a powerful flap, the angel knocked the demons down. 

“Come with me!” The angel extended a hand.

Cas grabbed hold of Sam’s sleeve and yanked him after the angel. They ran, pelting across the sand. They drew up with the angel. 

“That way!” He pointed towards a rocky ledge in the distance. “I’ll cover you.”

Sam and Cas ran. Behind them, the sounds of battle gradually faded. Sam’s laboured breaths filled his ears. Sand grit between his teeth and glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The stone in the distance finally came closer. Shards of smooth shale overlapped each other and stacked up and up into the sky. Sam and Cas skittered to a stop at the foot of the rocks. 

The angel landed beside them in a cloud of dust. “This way,” he led them between a crack in the rocks. Sam followed at a wary distance. Exhaustion caused his legs to shake, but it did not temper his suspicion.

The rocks formed a cave system. Light poured in through cracks in the ceiling. At last, the angel paused. A space on the cave floor had been cleared to make room for a bed made of scraps and an empty firepit. 

Sam collapsed against the wall. Cas dropped down next to him. The angel went about starting a small fire.

Sam surveyed their saviour. A dark beard and unkept hair covered most of his face. Bright eyes flashed as he caught Sam’s gaze. He offered a hand to shake. 

“My name is Jehudiel. I know you, Castiel. And you, Sam Winchester.”

“Je- Jeru- Can I call you Jay?” Sam tried.

The angel nodded. 

“We’re not supposed to be here, Jay,” Sam said.

Jay laughed. 

“I mean we’re not dead,” Sam explained. 

“I know,” Jay said. “I can still read souls, even in the Pit.” He turned to Cas. “Are you here to free the angels from our imprisonment, Castiel?”

“No,” Cas didn’t meet his eye. “We’re here to rescue Dean Winchester.”

“Dean Winchester,” Jay sank his teeth into the name. “Dean is filling the dungeons of Hell with angels,” Jay spit. “They are dying in there.”

“What?” Sam gasped. “He’s killing them?”

“Yes,” Jay nodded. 

“Why?” Sam asked. “I mean, what’s the point?”

Jay’s face folded in confusion. “We are at war. We kill each other.”

“Right,” Sam tried to explain. “But Dean is bringing captured angels into his palace. Why capture them in the first place?”

Jay shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been a little busy trying not to be the next one to wind up in his dungeon.”

“What if I told you there was a way out?” Sam offered. 

Jay lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “How? We’ve scoured Hell for any escape. There is none.”

“There’s a Gate,” Cas said. “But it must be opened by a human.”

Jay whistled. “In that case, lead on. I’ll gather the troops.”

“First,” Sam said. “We have to get Dean.”

Jay scoffed. “What for?”

“We can’t let him rule Hell,” Cas explained. “He’s too powerful as he is. We can return his humanity to him.”

Jay scraped at his beard. He contemplated Sam and Cas. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, alright. But on one condition. If we’re going to storm Pandemonium for your brother, we have to rescue the angels from the dungeon.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Cas. Cas shrugged. “Why not? Our task is already impossible.” 

Jay laid out a plan. After what felt like days of discussion, he got up and left the cave to assemble the clusters of angels hiding throughout Hell. 

Sam’s bones ached with exhaustion. He rubbed grit from his eyes. 

Cas spoke up once Jay left. “When are we going to tell Jay that we don’t know where the gate is?”

Sam sighed. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let’s get to Dean.”

Despite his exhaustion, Sam couldn’t bring himself to relax. Memories of his experiences in Hell flashed through his mind. The loneliness. The cold. Sam shuffled closer to the fire. At some point he drifted into a doze. He woke to footsteps scraping on stone.   
Sam bolted upright. Jay stepped back into their cave. Behind him a dozen angels followed. Cas stood. He wore a hungry expression as he watched every face who entered the cave. Perhaps two dozen angels entered. They stood shoulder to shoulder. Cas glanced at the entrance.

“So few?” Cas croaked. 

Jay shared a sharp look with the woman next to him. “More angels die every day. Dean Winchester imprisons even more.”

Cas’ face darkened. “Then we’ll need a plan.”

*** 

Dean’s memories tasted tainted, soured by his new demon status. He saw his past through a filter of red fire. Every emotion had drained from his recollections, leaving them dull, distant, impure. Disgust flared at every memory of a tender moment. But Dean remembered. He remembered a plan, not so long ago, to make a human into an angel. A human who had once felt grace flood their veins should have survived the process. The plan never came to fruition. Now, Dean had an opportunity to test the utmost limits of his theory. A vial of shining ice blue grace rolled between Dean’s fingers. No test subjects presented themselves. The only other angel to ever fall so low was dead. Dean wondered if he would have the balls to try this on Lucifer if the Morningstar still lived. It didn’t matter. Angels continued to fill the dungeons one cell at a time. Dean had all he could ever need to pump himself full of grace. 

Dean attached a syringe to the vial. Now or never. He pressed the needle to the crook of his arm. 

Gerry barged into the throne room. “Sir,” he gasped. “You need to see this.”

“Not now,” Dean growled.

“Sir,” Gerry insisted. “The angels are breaking out of their cells.”

Dean roared. He jammed the syringe in his pocket and strode after Gerry. 

Dean descended the stairs he’d walked down to the dungeons a dozen times since he first began extracting angel grace. The shouting sounded more frantic than the usual tortured screams. Dean’s boots hit the bottom of the stairs. The cells lay in chaos. Barred doors hung open. Angels and demons grappled in the hallway. Black oil slick on top of red blood marked where demons had fallen. Ashy silhouettes of wings charred the walls. Dean growled. He unsheathed the First Blade.

Dean strode into the battle. He cut down any angel who crossed his path. The Mark sang as his blood boiled. A sense of purity washed over Dean. The Blade felt like an extension of his arm. The swing from his shoulder, through his wrist, directing the fury of the Blade at his enemies made Dean feel alive. 

Dean cut a path through the dungeons. As he approached the other end of the cells, Dean realised someone was directing the angels. They had an escape. Dean followed their fleeing backs. He came around the corner of a cell. A man with long hair and blood crusted on the side of his face ushered one angel after another through a hole in the wall.

“Sam,” Dean’s lip curled around the name of his brother.

Sam blanched. “Dean?” His eyes fell on the Blade. “What have you done?”

Dean lifted the Blade. Sam’s eyes widened. The Blade arced through the air. It clanged against a silver angel blade. A blur of dark hair and blue eyes dove between Sam and Dean.

Dean snarled. Cas growled back. He shoved Dean away from Sam.

Dean charged. His feet suddenly left the floor. Dean flailed. He floated up, weightless and stuck three feet above the ground.

Sam held both his hands directed at Dean. Sweat broke out over his forehead. 

Dean roared. 

“Sam,” Cas said. “We have to go.”

“I can’t leave him,” Sam argued.

“I’m going to skin you alive,” Dean shouted.

Sam flinched. 

“Sam,” Cas urged.

Sam closed his eyes. He waved his hands at Dean. “Sleep,” he commanded.

Dean’s black eyes rolled back into his head. Sam let him drop into a heap on the floor.

“Let’s go,” Cas said. He hooked a leg over the crumbled wall.

“Cas,” Sam grabbed his arm. “We have to take Dean.”

Cas’s jaw flexed.

“If we don’t take him with us,” Sam said. “Then all this was a waste.”

Cas gave a stiff nod. 

Sam approached Dean’s slumped form. The hammering of his heart betrayed his fear of his own brother. Sam slung one of Dean’s arms over his shoulder. Cas grabbed his other arm. They dragged him through the ragged hole in the wall. Jay waited on the other side. He frowned at Dean.

“This just got more complicated, didn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did this thing get so long? I planned for a five chapter short and sweet sequel. Here we are fifteen chapters later. Heads up, updates might be a little more sporadic from here on out. Life is busy. I will not abandon this fic, not to worry.


	15. Walk Through Hell

Dean woke just as Sam, Cas, Jay, and the other angels stopped to rest for a time. Sam would have said they stopped for the night, but Hell had no such thing as a morning or evening, only never-ending grey dirt and burning red skies. Sam collapsed on a flat rock beside Cas. His bones ached. They’d run from the palace of Pandemonium for hours. The demons hadn’t the foggiest idea how to keep pursuing without their leader to direct them. Jay led the flight into the desert. After ages, they stumbled across an outcropping of stone.

All around Sam, angels leaned against each other. They didn’t look like heaven’s army. They looked like a rag tag group of refugees who’d escaped a warzone. Those not coated in blood tended to the wounds of others. 

Jay and Sam set Dean down at the edge of the loose circle of rocks hiding them from patrolling demons. Jay found a length of rope in his supplies. Sam and Cas tied Dean’s hands behind his back and lashed his ankles together. 

Sam let one hand rest on Dean’s shin. His head fell until his chin touched his chest.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked.

“Fine,” Sam lied. He sat back on his heels. Cas stood and joined Jay with the other angels.

Dean jerked from dead asleep to completely awake. Sam watched him try to leap to his feet. Dean found himself bound hand and foot. He snarled, a low growl of frustration. Dean caught Sam watching.

“Sammy,” Dean’s face split into a smile full of malice. 

Sam’s stomach turned. He got to his feet and followed Cas to the other side of their camp. He couldn’t find the blue-eyed angel. Instead he ran into Jay.

“I can’t do this,” Sam admitted to the angel. He scrubbed a hand over his exhausted eyes.

Jay clasped Sam’s shoulder. “Just get us to the gate.”

A pang of guilt hit Sam in the chest.

Over Jay’s shoulder, Sam caught a glimpse of dark hair and a leather jacket. Cas crouched over a woman bleeding from her shoulder. Cas held a bandage in one hand and put pressure on the wound with the other. 

“Cas!” Sam waved his friend over. 

Cas stood and joined Sam and Jay. “We have to talk about our demon friend,” he rumbled.

Jay frowned. “If Dean will be a problem…”

“Of course he will,” Sam huffed a sound half between a laugh and a growl. “He’d be a problem if he were human. He’s always been stubborn. But this…” Sam trailed off.

“Then we can’t keep him with us,” Jay said. “He’ll slip free and murder us all in our sleep.”

“We’ll post a guard on him,” Sam said.

“That won’t be enough,” Jay shook his head.

“Can you put him to sleep again?” Cas suggested. 

Sam shook his head. “I had to fight him to put him under. It’s too much effort, I can’t keep it up.” Sam glanced at Dean. “But,” he considered. “I might be able to do something even better.”

Sam approached Dean. From behind, he looked just like Sam’s brother. He wore the collar of his plaid shirt rumpled. His dark blonde hair stood up in little spikes. But as Sam came around to face Dean, all the similarities bled away. Dean had never looked at Sam with such cold contempt. Sam dropped his gaze before he could see Dean’s eyes. 

Sam knelt in front of Dean. 

“What do you want?” 

Sam flinched. “This is for your own good. Hold still.”

Sam reached up. Dean snarled, baring his teeth. Sam brought his hands up to Dean’s temples. Dean struggled in his bonds.

“What are you doing? Get off!”

Sam closed his eyes. The magic in his gut roared like a furnace. Sam stoked it into an inferno. He focused, and then pushed. 

Fire like lightening coursed through Sam’s fingertips into Dean. Dean threw his head back. His mouth opened in a silent scream. Sam grasped for the electric charge surging between them. He tugged it back from Dean into himself. Connection. A closed circuit. 

Sam dropped his hands. It was done. 

Sam opened his eyes. Eyes black as hate stared back.

“I’m going to kill you.”

The thought echoed in Sam’s head with Dean’s voice. Despite himself, Sam felt a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. He’d gone without Dean’s voice in his head for so long. 

“No, you won’t,” Sam stood. “We’re going to fix you, Dean.”

Sam turned his back on Dean and walked back to Cas and Jay. Dean’s thoughts pierced his back like daggers. Vitriol and acid spit between promises of pain.   
Sam collapsed into his seat.

“What did you do?” Jay’s gaze shot between Sam and Dean.

“I connected our minds,” Sam explained. “I can hear his thoughts, but he can’t hear mine.”

Jay whistled. “You’re a brave, stupid man, Sam Winchester.”

“Sam,” Cas warned. “A demon’s mind is a horrific place. You don’t have to do this.”

“He’s my brother,” Sam choked. “No matter what, he’s still Dean.”

Cas’ jaw twitched. He gave a short nod. “Fine. If he tries anything, at least we’ll know.”

The angels bedded down. Sam and Cas settled where they could keep an eye on Dean. Dean twisted in his bonds. 

“Cut it out,” Sam snapped.

Dean bared his teeth.

Slowly, the murmur of the angles dropped off into the soft shuffles of sleep. 

Cas tried to hide a yawn.

“Get some rest,” Sam suggested.

Cas nodded. “Wake me when it’s my turn to watch Dean.”

Sam hunched in on himself, trying to find a comfortable position on the rock.

“How are you planning on containing me?” Dean’s voice snaked into Sam’s mind. “You’re going to save all these angels? You? You’re hopeless. Useless.”

“Stop,” Sam mumbled. 

“I know you,” Dean insisted. “I’ve always seen what you are. A coward. Weak. A burden.”

“No.”

Dean’s laugh scraped across Sam’s nerves. “I should have let you die. The world would be better off without Sam Winchester. My life would have infinitely improved the second you weren’t clinging to my leg.”

Sam hung his head in his hands. He pushed Dean’s words into the background. No matter what, he promised himself, Dean would live to see the sun again. No matter what.

Hours passed. Across the rocks, Jay stretched and stood. He nodded to Sam. “Rough night?”

Sam only shrugged.

Jay went about rousing his flock. Sam scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes. He nudged Cas with his foot. Cas shot upright. 

“Sam?” Cas blinked, “You didn’t wake me for guard duty?”

Sam stifled a yawn. “I couldn’t sleep with Dean’s voice in my head anyways.”

Cas looked out over the group of angels. “What are we going to tell them?” Cas asked under his breath.

“Nothing,” Sam whispered back.

Cas turned his fathomless eyes on Sam. “We are supposed to be leading them.”

“So lead,” Sam said. “Pick a direction.”

“We both know it is not that simple,” Cas answered. 

“Do you know anyone we can ask?” Sam’s patience snapped. 

Cas’ eyes flicked over Sam’s shoulder. Sam stiffened. “We are not asking Dean for help. He’s more likely to lead us over a cliff into a lake of acid just for laughs.”

“Then you’d better come up with a better idea,” Cas got to his feet and went to join Jay.

Sam stood. He brushed dust from his pants. It felt like prolonging the inevitable. Finally, Sam forced his feet to move. One step in front of the other. His boots stopped just a pace from Dean’s outstretched legs. Dean had the audacity to look well rested and relaxed after a night of shredding Sam’s mind to bits.

“What’s the plan for this lovely day in Hell?” Dean smirked.

“Shut up,” Sam said. “Stand. We’re moving out.”

Dean dragged himself to his feet. His gaze shifted over Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam heard the rumbling misgivings in Dean’s mind. Sam turned. A small knot of angels crept closer. Scowls and concealed fear filled their faces. Sam knew a mob when he saw one. Sam shifted in front of Dean.

“What do you want?” Sam asked.

One angel pushed to the front. She was the same red head Cas had helped bandage yesterday. Her left arm sat in a sling. 

“My name is Anna,” she said. “We have concerns about the demon.”

“We want justice,” a tall angel beside Anna spoke up.

The hair on the back of Sam’s neck stood up. “Back off.”

Anna’s face darkened. “You have no right to bring that demon with us.”

“I have the only right,” Sam growled. “Listen to me right now. I’m only going to say this once. If I had to choose, I’d save this demon and leave you all to burn.”

Anna’s eyes widened. “He tortured us,” she hissed. “We deserve-.”

“You deserve nothing,” Cas stepped up beside Sam. “Saving you was not the plan. You are only here because of our mercy. Accept the gift of your freedom and move on.”

The tall angel beside Anna menaced. “There are more of us than you.”

Dean’s thoughts momentarily overwhelmed Sam. Images of tearing through the crowd bloodied Sam’s mind. He lifted a hand to ward off the visions. 

The tall angel sneered. “And one of you is broken.”

“Broken?” Sam’s head snapped up. “I’ll show you broken.” His magic seared his palms, hotter than Sam ever remembered. The magic surged from him, slamming into the cluster of angels. The force knocked them all off their feet. 

“Sam,” Cas caught Sam’s arm. “Stop. Not like this.”

“What is going on?” Jay’s voice boomed over their heads. Sam looked up. Jay soared over them. His wings flapped hard enough to kick up dust. Sam shielded his eyes.   
Jay landed with enough force that Sam rocked in place. 

Jay addressed his followers. “Dean Winchester is an abomination. But his survival is key to ours.” He swept his dark eyes over the crowd struggling to their feet. “No one touches Dean Winchester. Understood?”

A grumble of affirmation rose. The angels dispersed, leaving Sam and Cas alone with Dean. 

Sam realised Dean’s thoughts had gone quiet. He turned. Dean’s gaze speared Sam’s. He held Dean’s stare. 

“What?” Sam snapped. 

A smile knifed Dean’s face. “Nice to know you still care, brother.”

“Let’s just go,” Sam gripped Dean’s arm. He pushed Dean after the slow train of angels making their way across the deserts of Hell.

Dean’s thoughts mused over escape plans almost immediately.

“I can hear you,” Sam reminded Dean.

“Oh yeah?” Dean quipped. “Then listen to this.” He launched into a rendition of that annoying Justin Beiber song Sam hated. Sam sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Jay rambled over to Sam with two angels in tow. “This is Harold,” he nodded to the bearded man. “And Liam,” Jay introduced the hulking bald man. “They’ll help guard Dean. They can be trusted.”

Sam nodded. “Thank you.”

The walk continued. Sam turned the problem of finding the gate over and over in his mind. His attention broke regularly as Dean continued to assault his thoughts.

Dean hummed Baby Shark for the hundredth time. 

“How do you even know that song?” Sam groaned. 

Dean worked through Bob Seger’s entire musical library one song at a time. Memories of the same songs rattling out of the Impala’s speakers while Dean hummed softly washed over Sam with each new chorus. Dean started in on Ramlin’ Gamblin’ Man. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Sam ground between his teeth. “It won’t work.”

“Are you sure?” Dean cocked his head. His black eyes stared unblinking into Sam’s face. Sam stifled a shudder. He’d never yearned for a flicker of Dean’s apple green eyes so bad. 

Underneath the lyrics, Sam caught hold of the wandering thread of Dean’s mind. Sam followed the thought down to where Dean’s attention focused. The guards. Dean thought of ripping their throats out with his teeth. The rush of hot blood on his tongue. Sam shuddered.

“What’s the matter, Sammy boy?” Dean drawled. “Don’t like what you see?”

“What is wrong with you?” Sam snapped.

Dean bared his teeth. “You really want to know? Fine.” Dean closed his eyes. He bowed his head. 

Sam’s vision jolted. The ground stayed solid beneath his feet, but his eyes told Sam the earth had crumbled and left him falling. Sam’s gut lurched. Darkness swirled all around. Sam gripped the rock under him to reassure himself it was still there. The darkness ebbed. Sam saw a long progression of beings stumbling in a line. They approached Sam and bent in supplication. They offered their throats, their blood pumping under their skin. Sam found himself standing and walking towards the nearest supplicant. His hands moved without Sam telling them to. His fingers gripped the throat presented to him. 

“Stop!” Sam lashed out. A flare of magic shot from his fingertips. The cry of pain and surprise ripped Sam from his vision. 

The angel Liam clutched his hand. Blackened fingers sizzled and smoked. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam reached for the burn, pulling healing magic from his core. Liam flinched away. Sam held out his hands. “I’m sorry. I can fix it.”

“Don’t touch him,” Harold pushed between Liam and Sam. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Sam tried to explain. “I can heal him. I’m sorry.”

Harold studied Sam. Finally, he nodded. Sam reached for Liam’s hand. Liam shook like a leaf. Sam let the magic he’d prepared flow out. It rushed like cool water over the scorched flesh. Liam breathed out in relief. 

Sam pulled back. His stomach lurched at the realisation of what he’d done. 

Sam whirled on Dean. He thrust a finger in Dean’s face. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Or what?” Dean snarled. 

“Or I will find a way to immobilize you until we get out of Hell,” Sam threatened.

Dean scoffed. “Why don’t you put your magic to better use and find us a way out of here first?”

Sam reeled as if struck. It was so obvious. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Sam had all this magic pooled in his gut and he never once considered using it to find the gate. Maybe Dean was onto something. Maybe Sam was useless.

Sam shook the idea aside. No time for that. 

“Cas!” Sam shouted. “I got it!”


	16. Get the hell out of Hell

Sam knelt in the grey dust of Hell and tried to find inner peace.

“Will this work?” Jay shattered Sam’s concentration.

Sam cracked open an eye. “Not if you keep interrupting.”

“Why didn’t you do this before?” Jay asked.

“We weren’t close enough,” Sam lied.

He closed his eyes again. Sam knew he could find the gate out of Hell. It wasn’t a question of ability. His magic lurched to do whatever he wanted. The question rested on how to manifest the magic into an entity. What Sam needed was something concrete to ground his magic into. Something their rag tag band could follow all the way to the gate, like a compass, so that Sam didn’t have to pour all his focus into keeping the magic flowing. 

“I need a talisman,” Sam said with his eyes closed.

“Like what?” Cas rumbled. 

“Anything,” Sam waved a hand. “Whatever you have. Something that can hold my magic.”

“A vessel,” Cas replied. “Would have to be very strong.”

“Here,” Jay placed something soft in Sam’s hand. 

Sam closed his fingers. “Is this a feather?”

“Yes,” Jay said. “Mine.”

Sam nodded. He kept his breathing even as he shaped his magic into a compass. He oriented the needle of the feather towards the shape of the gate in his head. He let his magic pour into the feather. The gate in his mind’s eye pulsed.

Sam opened his eyes. The feather laying in his hand pulsed with light in time with the gate. Sam rose to his feet. He tossed the feather into the air. It floated. Then it darted forward. 

“Follow it!” Sam instructed. 

Jay gathered his angels. 

Sam crouched and yanked Dean to his feet. He hadn’t realised how silent Dean’s mind had gone until he registered the hum. 

“Follow the yellow brick road,” Dean mumbled. 

“Something like that,” Sam tugged him along.

“Have you thought about how much of your soul you burned for that little trick? Or for any of the other magic you’ve done?”

“Are you trying to tell me you care?” Sam asked incredulously.

Dean laughed like nails on a chalkboard. “Not hardly. I’m just waiting for the moment you realise how close you are to winding up back here in Hell for eternity.”

A shiver ran down Sam’s spine. He swallowed hard. “Crowley told me souls are almost limitless power.”

“Almost,” Dean shot back. “But not quite. And you’re running your batteries pretty hard. Souls don’t recharge, you know.”

Cas appeared at Sam’s elbow. “I think you should go talk to Jay. I’ll watch Dean.”

Dean leered.

Sam nodded and pushed his way through the crowd. He found the dark-skinned angel on his own near the front. Jay’s eyes blazed with a golden light the same gloss as his shining feather. 

“Do you understand exactly what you’re doing, Sam Winchester?” Jay asked.

“I’m saving my brother,” Sam grumbled.

Jay’s lips twitched. “Whether he likes it or not. Do you have a plan when you lead your wayward brother from Hell?”

Sam eyed Jay. “What does it matter to you?”

Jay let the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth spread. “I think you might want to consider the bigger picture, Sam. You’ve forgotten some important pieces to the puzzle along the way.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam challenged. “Like what?”

“Like this, for example,” Jay drew a weapon from his waistband. Sam’s stomach dropped at the sight of the jagged bone edge. The First Blade.

“Where did you get that?” Sam asked through his dry mouth.

“You left it behind when you grabbed Dean out of his palace,” Jay said. He handed Sam the blade. “You can’t afford to be this careless with a demon like Dean around, Sam.”

Sam ran his fingers along the scarred blade. “I know,” he said. He tucked the Blade into his own waistband.

A shout suddenly came from the leaders of the pack. Sam lifted his gaze. A ridge of rock kicked up out of the grey sand. At the peak of the ridge, a glimmer of gold shimmered. The Gate.

The angels at the head ran for the ridge. Sam and Jay exchanged a glance and chased after. The closer they got, the brighter the golden gleam shone. Sam scrambled up the rock. At the top of the outcrop, a swirl of colour nearly blinded him. A vortex opened inward like a flower. The closest angel leaped for the portal. His body hit the edge of the vortex. He slammed backwards, as if he’d struck an invisible barrier. 

Sam gasped. A shout of dismay rose from the other angels. 

“It’s a human portal,” Sam muttered. His mind churned through a dozen options.

“Cas,” Sam turned and shouted down the rocks. Cas’ dark-haired head beside Dean jerked up. “Stay there,” Sam ordered. He took a step back from the portal. Then another. The vortex shrunk almost imperceptivly. Sam stepped back further. The portal visibly reduced. The light shining out from the depths of the Gate dimmed. Sam moved closer to the Gate. The vortex grew and brightened. 

“What does it mean?” Jay asked. Anxiety lanced his face. 

“I don’t think it will open for an angel,” Sam said slowly. “But it should stay active for a human.”

“So what do we do?”

“Get everyone up here. Be ready.” Sam let his plan unfold in his head. He watched the outcome from every angle. As long as his theory proved true, it would work. They’d all go home.

The angels shuffled up the steep incline to gather around the swirling Gate. Cas and Dean came last. The Gate pulsed brighter the second Cas’ feet touched the top of the ridge. 

“I have an idea,” Sam raised his voice to address the group. “But it only works if everyone does exactly as I say.” He turned to Cas. “One of us humans has to go through the Gate first; to open it. The portal should remain open after that until the other human goes through.”

Understanding flickered over Cas’ face. “You want us to split up.”

“I want you to go first,” Sam said. “I’ll come through last and bring Dean with me.”

“And if you’re wrong?” A voice among the angels piped up. “What if only a human can get through?”

“Then we figure out something else,” Sam said.

A concerned murmur rippled through the angels. 

Jay placed himself next to Sam. “Have faith, brothers and sisters. We will be free.” He dropped a hand onto Sam’s shoulder. “I will remain behind with Sam until the rest of you have gone through.”

Sam nodded his thanks.

Cas pulled Dean with him to Sam’s side. Cas’ face creased with worry. “I don’t like this,” he said. “We have no way of knowing where the portal will lead on Earth. We could materialise in a desert, or the middle of an ocean.”

“We have to take the risk,” Sam insisted. 

Cas jaw clenched. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. I’m ready.”

Sam took Dean’s arm. Cas stepped towards the Gate. He straightened his spine. Cas looked back over his shoulder. Cas gave Sam a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“See you on the other side.” Cas stepped through the Gate. 

He vanished in a halo of gold light. 

The angels gasped and mumbled among themselves. 

“Who will go next?” Jay challenged. No one moved. Sam’s stomach clenched.

Anna, the red head, pushed forward. She strode straight into the light without looking back. She vanished exactly the same as Cas. 

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. The other angels clambered forward. One at a time, they passed through into the light. 

“How do you know they aren’t all walking to their deaths?” Dean’s voice slithered into Sam’s ear.

Sam scowled. “Don’t. I’m not listening to you.”

“Oh really?” The voice didn’t come from Dean’s lips. It wormed its way into Sam’s mind. “I don’t believe you, Sammy boy.” He hummed a line from Metallica.

“Just shut up,” Sam ground between his teeth. He kept his eyes fixed on the train of angels passing through the Gate. Dean continued singing in his head. Sam pushed his voice to the edge of his mind.

The very last angel aside from Jay stepped through. Sam’s heart thundered.

Jay came up next to him. “Do you want to go through together?” Jay’s gaze landed on Dean. “Might make things easier.”

Sam nodded. “Thank you.”

Sam took one of Dean’s arms. Jay took the other. Together they pulled Dean to the edge of the Gate.

At the cusp of the portal Sam felt it. Something shifted in Dean’s thoughts. Buried under the screech of annoying music, a thought knifed outwards. Vicious intent sliced at Sam. Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s bicep. He opened his mouth to warn Jay. 

Dean moved.

He wrenched himself out of Sam and Jay’s hold. The bonds holding Dean’s hands behind his back fell away. Sam grabbed for him. Dean’s elbow slammed into Sam’s jaw. Sam crashed to the ground. His head rang. Dean’s hands grappled for Sam’s belt.

The First Blade.

The thought cleared Sam’s head better than a bucket of cold water. He rolled out of Dean’s grasp. Jay also struggled to his feet behind Dean. Dean pounced on Sam again. They hit the dirt. His hands wrapped around Sam’s throat.

Sam clawed at Dean’s fingers. Dean snarled in his face. Jay grabbed Dean’s shoulders. Dean released Sam. Sam choked for breath. Dean backhanded Jay so hard the angel dropped. Sam got his arm up. He punched wildly at Dean’s face. He managed to catch Dean in the ear. 

Dean cursing fell concussive on Sam’s ears. He wriggled out from under Dean. 

“Jay!” Sam shouted. “The Gate! Help me.”

Sam tackled Dean. He wrapped his arms around Dean from behind. Dean roared. Sam held on. The Gate waited right behind them. Dean’s hand suddenly grasped the Blade at Sam’s side. Sam struggled, trying to keep hold of Dean and dislodge his grip on the knife at the same time. Jay appeared in front of them. He grabbed Dean by the shoulders. 

The First Blade slipped free. 

Dean slashed upwards. 

Blood bloomed across Jay’s chest.

“No!” Sam screamed.

Jay’s hands tightened on Dean’s shoulders. He shoved hard. 

Sam and Dean fell backwards. The golden light of the portal wrapped around Sam. His throat tore on the scream still lodged in his chest. 

Sam watched Jay collapse as the burning light engulfed Sam entirely. Jay and the desolate landscape of Hell disappeared.

The gold of the Gate dissolved into an image of thick treetops blocking out the sun. Pine and dirt smelled sharp in Sam’s nose. 

Sam hit the ground hard. Dean landed on top of him. Sam’s grip slipped. Dean broke free of Sam’s bear hug. A shriek wrenched Sam’s attention.

Sam scrambled to his feet. His back hit the trunk of a tree. The angels who had passed through the portal gathered in a loose knot amid the trees around Sam and Dean. They skittered away from Dean and his Blade. Cas broke through the chaos. He placed himself between the angels and Dean.

Dean’s face twisted in a snarl. “You can’t stop me, Cas.”

“I can try,” Cas countered.

Sam reached out, his magic leaping to his fingertips. Dean felt the pulse of magic and turned. He swiped the Blade at Sam. Sam jerked back, his magic falling away with his broken concentration. 

Cas moved.

He got under Dean’s arm and landed a hit across Dean’s face. Dean staggered. Cas stayed with him. He grabbed Dean’s knife arm, keeping the Blade away from himself. Cas twisted his foot around Dean’s ankle and yanked his feet out from under him. Dean went down with Cas on top of him.

Sam raced forward. Cas wrestled with Dean’s grip on the Blade. He didn’t see the attack coming. Sam shouted a warning too late.

Dean wrenched Cas’ left arm. Sam heard the crack clear across the space between them. Cas screamed. Dean tossed Cas aside like a rag doll. Dean turned on Sam. The Blade hung lazily in his hand. He stalked towards Sam with a dangerous slope to his shoulders. 

Sam thrust his hands out in front of him. Pure panic rushed through his splayed fingers. A wave of power crashed into Dean, sending him flying. Dean leaped back to his feet.

Sam clenched his fist. Dean slumped. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. The First Blade fell from his limp fingers. Sam ran and snatched up the knife.

He backed away. Fear still coursed through his veins, making his heart jack rabbit. It took everything left of his shredded concentration to keep Dean under.

Sam whirled around. He took in their surroundings for the first time. Pine trees tall enough to scrape the clouds stretched all the way to the horizon. Sam saw no paths, no road, no signs of life anywhere to disturb the leafy undergrowth.

The angels huddled in a loose circle around Sam, Cas, and Dean. Cas kneeled hunched over his ruined arm. Sam’s stomach turned at the sight. He carefully stepped up to Cas. Sam laid a hand over Cas’ shoulder. He closed his eyes. Sam surveyed the X-ray like image in his head. He found the horrendous break and pulled. The bones knit back together. 

Cas shuddered under his hand. He lifted his head and looked at Dean.

Sam refused to look. He could feel Dean’s subconscious struggling to wake up. He held him down like holding someone’s head under water. Dean fought his control. Sam was tired. He couldn’t keep Dean down long.

“Now what?” Cas asked.

“Sam?” A voice Sam knew better than his own spoke.

Sam whipped around. 

At the edge of the trees a bearded man in a dirty ball cap held a shotgun in his hands. Bobby. 

“Is that you, Sam?”

The tension, fear, and worry finally overwhelmed Sam. He let out a sob. 

“Hi Bobby. We’re back.”


	17. Frying Pans and Fires

Sam watched the angels vanish one by one as soon as they realised they were free. Cas stood with his head tipped back to the sun. He stayed there, perfectly still, until every angel was gone. Then he turned and trudged over to Sam and Bobby.

Bobby held his shotgun loosely. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded. “The angels have returned to Heaven. I don’t expect we’ll hear from them again any time soon.”

Sam wiped beads of sweat from his brow. Dean lay at his feet. All Sam’s concentration remained on keeping Dean unconscious. Sam felt his strength flagging.

“Bobby,” Sam warned.

“This way,” Bobby hefted the gun. 

Cas bent over and plucked the jagged First Blade from the grass.

Sam knelt. Cas helped Sam lift Dean. Together they carried him between them. 

Bobby weaved through the dense woods. Sam looked up and blinked. He must have been dreaming. A white church stood stark against the green of the forest. 

“Bobby, what is this?” Sam asked.

“Old nunnery,” Bobby grunted. “From the Cold War, I think. It was abandoned ages ago.”

Sam started for the steps up to the front door.

“No, this way,” Bobby led them around the back of the building. He opened a door set into the foundation of the church. A cellar. The door protested with a screech. The dark beyond sent Sam’s mind back to the caves in Hell. Then the electrical lights flickered on. Bobby gestured for them to follow him down a steep flight of stairs. 

At the bottom, the space widened into a low-ceilinged tomb of concrete. Sam and Cas dragged Dean into the room. Sam gasped as he felt the waves of magic crashing down from the floor to ceiling symbols painted on the walls. Sam’s own magic constricted into a tiny mass in his chest, like it recoiled from the sigils.

Dean grunted in his sleep. “Hurry,” Sam instructed. “I’m losing him.”

The room was little more than a closet, with a single chair in the center of a devil’s trap. The cellar had clearly been designed to keep someone powerful inside. Sam and Cas dumped Dean into the chair. Bobby hustled after them. He produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. He slapped the cuffs around Dean’s right wrist and attached the other link to the arm of the chair. He pulled out a second pair of cuffs and repeated the action on Dean’s left side. 

“Done,” Bobby stepped back. “Those are demon proof cuffs. He ain’t getting free.”

Sam turned and pretended he didn’t flee the confining cellar. The moment he passed through the door back into the sun felt like breathing in after being submerged in water. He pressed a hand against his chest where his magic rumbled and warmed his fingers. 

Cas and Bobby emerged behind Sam from the depths and slammed the door. Bobby threw the lock.

Sam let go of his control over Dean’s mind. The severing of magic sent a wave of dizziness over Sam. He braced his hands on his knees as the world spun in a kaleidoscope of green.

“C’mon,” Bobby’s hands gripped Sam’s shoulders. “Let’s go inside.”

Bobby guided Sam and Cas up the steps into the church. A fractured rainbow splashed red and green and purple over the sanctuary from the stained-glass windows. The pews sat in rigid rows facing the raised pulpit. Bobby marched down the center aisle and veered right to a little door set unobtrusively off the side of the stage. Sam and Cas followed. 

They emerged into what was once an office. Bobby had refashioned it into a living space. In the corner a couch was covered in a blanket and a stack of lore books. Plates and iron knives piled in the sink of the kitchenette. The rickety table and its chairs appeared largely used for research instead of meals. 

Sam’s exhausted body fell into one of the wooden chairs. Cas dropped into the chair across from Sam. 

Bobby surveyed them critically. “So,” he said. “You did it. You pulled Dean out of Hell.”

“Yeah,” Sam croaked. He scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “Now what?”

Bobby quirked a smirk. “How about some lunch? And coffee?”

Cas perked up at the mention of caffeine. “I will help,” he got to his feet and immediately swayed.

Bobby placed a firm hand on Cas’ shoulder and pushed him back into his seat. “I got it covered.”

Sam closed his eyes while Bobby bustled around putting together the food. He must have dropped off at some point. The clink of a mug being set in front of him roused Sam. He wrapped his hands around the coffee cup. The scent of the strong black brew released something tight in his chest. Until that moment, it hadn’t fully settled that they’d made it back. They were safe. Which raised a few questions.

“How did the portal know to dump us with you, Bobby?” Sam mused aloud.

“Portals without predetermined destinations most often take their travelers home,” Cas answered.

Sam blinked. 

Bobby frowned. “Then shouldn’t y’all be in Sioux Falls?”

“The Winchesters have never defined home as a place,” Cas said in his blunt way.

Sam ducked his head to hide the flush heating his face. Bobby’s hand squeezing his shoulder startled him. He’d missed Bobby’s stoic affection.

Sam changed the subject. “What are you doing living in a church?” 

Bobby grunted. “I told you, idjit. It was a nunnery. Consecrated ground. No demons allowed.”

“Except in the cellar,” Cas’ rough voice spoke up.

“Bingo,” Bobby tipped his cap. “I’ve been avoiding hell-spawn as much as I can while I worked on figuring out the Mark of Cain.”

“How long were we gone?” Sam asked.

Bobby set the cream and sugar down with extra care. “Six months,” he said.

Sam choked on his coffee. “What?” He spluttered. 

Cas sat up straight.

Bobby shrugged. “I knew you’d make it back sooner or later. But I have to admit, I thought you’d be sooner.”

“Then what have you been doing for all these months?” Sam asked.

“I put together the spell Chuck gave us to turn Dean back from a demon. I think I have everything now.” Bobby said. “Plus, all this,” he gestured to the church. “It should be completely demon proof. Nothing in or out unless we want it.”

“Then we need to move with this spell,” Sam said. He set down his coffee cup.

“Just hang on,” Bobby held out his hands. “You haven’t been back five minutes. Get some rest. Eat. We’ll start in the morning.”

Sam shook his head. “We don’t have time to wait. Dean is a bigger threat than anything we’ve ever faced.”

“From the frying pan into the fire,” Cas rumbled. “Business as usual for the Winchesters.” His usually sad eyes drooped more than ever.

Bobby sat beside Sam. His frown behind his beard twisted Sam’s stomach. “Sam, you’ll have to be the one to work the spell.”

“Because of my magic,” Sam nodded. Dean’s snarling face came to his mind’s eye. Those black eyes. The screaming vitriol. The First Blade passing through Jay. Bile rose to the back of his throat. “I don’t think I can,” he choked. 

“You have to,” Bobby insisted. “I love him too, which is why we can’t leave him like this.”

“I know,” Sam nodded. “I know, you’re right.” He scraped his chair back from the table. “I just need a minute.”

Sam escaped into the sanctuary. Behind the pulpit the cross was missing from the wall. Its outline stood out stark where it once hung.   
What on earth was Sam thinking? He should have sealed all the Gates of Hell and left Dean to rot. That’s what any other good hunter would have done. Now, Sam had doomed the world to the possibility of a King of Hell loose and angry. He had to get this right. He had to fix everything. For Dean.

The office door creaked open. Cas sat on the pew behind Sam. He folded his hands as though in prayer. What did angels pray to, Sam wondered?

“Bobby is assembling the spell as we speak,” Cas said.

“Good,” Sam cleared his throat. “I’m ready.”

“You’re not,” Cas countered. “But that’s okay. You’ll do it anyways.”

“How do you know?” Sam asked.

Cas leveled Sam with one of his unnerving stares. “Because this is how you save your brother. No matter what else you go through, the Winchesters always save each other.”

Sam nodded. He clapped Cas on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

The door opened again. Bobby stepped out carrying a tray laden with jars and vials. “It’s go time. Now or never.”

Sam accepted the tray from Bobby. He glanced over at Cas. “I need you two to watch the door. Seal it behind me. If this doesn’t work, we can’t let Dean free.”

Bobby nodded. “You got it.”

Sam took the spell ingredients outside and around the church. The cellar door waited. The tray wobbled in Sam’s shaking hands. Sam steadied himself. He surveyed the assembled occult accoutrement on the tray. The scrap of motel stationary with Chuck’s handwriting sat next to the ingredients it listed. An angel feather, the blood of a demon, holy water, holy oil.

Sam read and re-read the incantation. When he finished, he floundered. There was nothing else to do, no other reason to stall. 

Sam gripped the cellar door’s handle. He opened the door and descended. The door at the bottom of the stairs waited. A thump startled Sam into almost dropping the tray. The sound came from behind the door. Had Dean gotten free? Sam should have brought a weapon.

Sam rushed and unlocked the door. He threw it open.

Dean struggled in the cuffs chaining him to the chair. He looked up at Sam and bared his teeth. 

Sam frowned. “What was that sound?”

Dean threw his weight against the chair. It rocked onto its back legs, almost tipping over. Gravity righted it and the front legs reconnected with the ground in a thump. 

Sam sighed. “You’re only going to hurt yourself if you knock the chair over.”

Dean didn’t reply. His hungry gaze had fallen on the tray in Sam’s hands. He licked his lips.

“So,” Dean drawled. “End of the line?”

Sam grimaced. He set the tray on the floor and knelt. “I’m not going to kill you, Dean. I’m going to cure you.” He started opening the vials and jars of ingredients.

Dean chuckled, “Why don’t you give up this charade and join me?”

“What?” Sam balked. His fingers halted in their work.

Dean grinned slow and easy like a cat toying with a mouse in its claws. “Why are you fighting so hard to keep your humanity? We both know you don’t want it. You’d rather be an angel. Well, that’s off the table. But we can change you into a demon right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean leaned forward. “I’m talking about you and me ruling Hell and taking over Earth.”

Sam chuffed an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, right. How do propose to do that?”

“Bloody.” Dean’s black eyes gave away nothing.

Sam busied himself crushing the angel feather with his mortar and pestle. 

“You drank demon blood, Sammy boy. You know the kind of power boost it gives. Imagine the kind of firepower you could wield if you chugged enough demon Gatorade to kick your humanity out of the equation.”

“I don’t want more power.” Sam poured the crushed feather into his mixing bowl.

“Oh really? You think you can keep burning your soul candle at both ends? You want to know what I see with these black eyes Sammy? I see you losing yourself bit by bit. You’re not going to last much longer.” Dean tipped his head. “So, you can die. Or you can embrace what I’m offering. Keep your magic and put the power of a supernova behind it.”

“I already told you,” Sam insisted. “I’m not interested.” He tipped half a flask of holy water into the bowl.

“You know this spell will kill me, don’t you?”

Sam froze. He closed his eyes. “Stop. Just stop talking.”

“How are you going to feel knowing you killed your own brother?”

Fear surged up Sam’s throat and choked him. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t leave Dean as a demon, but he also couldn’t bear to watch him die by Sam’s hand. Sam felt like a rubber band stretched to the point of snapping. Either choice threatened to break Sam in two.

“I have to do this,” Sam ground out between his teeth. 

“Or,” Dean said softly. “You can drink that vial of demon blood there and join me. No more death, no more Heaven on our tails, no more worry about the weight of the world on your shoulders. Just freedom to do whatever we want. Together. Forever.”

Sam looked up. The demon blood in the vial somehow found its way into his hand. The red liquid sloshed. Sam saw his own reflection in the glass. His eyes were shadowed by terror. Wouldn’t it be nice to never feel that again?

Sam uncorked the vial. 

The copper scent hit his nostrils. He shied away from the memory of the high brought on by demon blood. The fire in his veins. The invulnerable feeling. If he drank now, he’d never come down from the high.

Sam tipped the vial into the spell. Dean snarled over the sizzle of the demon blood hitting the holy water.

The spell was ready. 

Sam stood.

Sam held the bowl of purifying ingredients in one hand. Sam caught Dean’s chin in the other hand. He jerked Dean’s mouth open and poured the contents of the spell down his throat. Dean thrashed in his grip. Sam clamped a hand over Dean’s mouth. He held on as Dean bucked. The incantation dripped from Sam’s lips. Latin scorched the air around them.

Dean’s black eyes widened. Sam felt the spell catch. He shoved his magic behind the spell, adding his power to it. 

One shot. They only got one shot at this. Sam had to make sure it worked.

Sam’s hand burned where it touched Dean’s skin. 

Dean screamed.

A flash of light erupted from Dean’s eyes. For a horrifying second Sam thought his eyes were burning. Then the light receded. The magic faded.

Dean’s chest heaved. His eyes stayed closed. 

Sam removed his hands. “Dean?”

Dean opened his eyes.

Candy apple green greeted Sam. 

Sam sagged with relief. “Hey,” he croaked. “Welcome back.”

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Sam gripped Dean by the shoulders. “No, don’t apologise. You did what you had to. You’re back. It’s all okay now.”

“Sam,” Dean groaned. “You want to let me out of this chair?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam scrambled for the cuffs. The Mark of Cain stood out on Dean’s skin like a brand. This wasn’t over yet. The thought skittered through his brain. Sam’s fingers stilled.

“What?” Dean read Sam’s hesitation.

“One thing,” Sam hurried back to his tray. He picked up the flask of holy water.

“Do we have to do this?” Dean groaned.

Sam’s jaw clenched down on the fear closing his throat. “Yeah.” Sam sloshed a dose of holy water over Dean’s head. Nothing happened. 

Sam laughed with relief. He uncuffed Dean from the chair. “Bobby’s going to be so happy to see you. And Cas. Man, did we miss you,” Sam rambled as he helped Dean stand.

Sam led Dean up the cellar stairs. Sam shoved the door open. Bobby and Cas stood waiting on the other side. Sam grinned. He opened his mouth to tell them the good news. 

Bobby’s hand shot out and pushed Sam aside. Bobby’s other hand whipped out. A bottle of holy water dumped over Dean’s head. Dean yelped. 

“We already did this song and dance,” Dean groused as he spit water.

“Can’t be too careful,” Bobby shrugged. He reached out and wrapped Dean in a hug. When Bobby stepped back, Cas took his place. He clung to Dean’s shoulders.

“I have missed you,” the ex-angel admitted.

“Me too, Cas,” Dean slapped him on the back. His smile threatened to split his face.

Dean’s stomach suddenly rumbled, breaking the tender moment. 

Bobby laughed. “I got a pie in the oven.”

“Pie?” Dean perked up.

Bobby led the way back into the church. The moment Dean’s boots crossed over the threshold let a knot of tension loose in Sam’s chest. Some higher-level demons might be able to resist holy water, but not even Lucifer could cross onto consecrated ground.

Dean demolished his pie. Sam sat and watched with a warm glow in the air. Everything felt bright and soft and safe after Hell, and after having Dean back. 

Dean practically licked the pie plate clean. He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Man, I feel like I haven’t slept in days.”

“Get some shut eye,” Bobby advised. 

Sam stood with Dean. “I’ll show you where we’re sleeping.” Sam could hardly keep his hands to himself. He wanted to brush shoulders with Dean all the way down the hall. He wanted to sit and watch Dean sleep, to ensure he remained real through the night. 

Sam and Dean took one of the old offices as a room for the night. They shoved the desk against the wall and spread camp blankets on the floor. They’d slept on worse.

Sam sat on his blankets while Dean washed up. He marvelled at their turn of luck. The spell worked. Sam had cured a demon. And Dean survived.

Dean returned from the bathroom, rubbing his hand over the Mark.

“How do you feel?” Sam asked.

“I’m great,” Dean grinned. His smile wobbled. A cough caught in his throat. Dean coughed again. His shoulders heaved as he hacked. Sam stepped forward in alarm. Dean bent double. His body convulsed. 

A stream of blood hit the floor.


	18. Providence

Sam paced up and down the length of the church pews. He raised his eyes to the missing cross on the wall. He wished he could believe someone in Heaven was listening. 

Sam continued pacing after the sun set. The stained glass had long since stopped painting the sanctuary in rainbow light. 

Bobby sat with Dean now. Sam couldn’t get the image of Dean coughing up blood out of his head. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Sam rescued Dean. They should have driven off in the sunset to track down the next ghost or monster. Instead, Dean had given himself the Mark of Cain. All for Sam. And now the Mark might kill Dean.

The door beside the pulpit opened. Bobby wandered out, Cas trailing behind. Cas dropped onto the front pew. Bobby levered himself down next to him. Sam’s aching feet came to a stop in front of Bobby. 

“Well?”

Bobby sighed. “He’s sleeping now. Seems better though.”

“But he’s not really going to get better, is he?” Sam asked with a wrenching tug in his gut. “So, let’s start spit balling. What can we do for him?”

Bobby didn’t answer. He studied his fingers interlaced in his lap.

Sam wheeled on Cas. “Do you think we can ask the angels for help?” 

Cas sighed. “They might come to your aid, Sam. But for Dean? The last they recall of him, Dean slew Jay.”

“The only thing I can think of that might do the trick is a demon deal.” Bobby said. “And good luck finding any black eyes willing to trade.”

Sam jerked like he’d been struck by lightning. “Bobby! Your deal. Dean ended it. Your soul is yours again.”

Bobby grunted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“It happened months ago. In the middle of the night I woke up to burning all over my body. Orange writing flaming out on my skin. I knew what that meant.”

“Okay. Great,” Sam said lamely. He shook himself back on track. “What have you found about the Mark?”

“That it’s a sonuvagun piece of magic,” Bobby spat. “Older than time.” He sighed a sound that came from his bones. “Sam, I don’t know if we’ll be able to get rid of it.”

Sam’s chest squeezed. “All magic can be broken. The Mark was given to Dean; he can transfer it to something else.”

The door creaked again. Dean leaned on the frame.

Bobby stood. “You shouldn’t be up.”

“I’m fine,” Dean waved his concerns away with a half smile. “So, we’re planning a miracle again?”

Sam shrugged. “Unless you have a better idea.”

“Not even a snowball’s,” Dean said. He jerked his head at Sam. “C’mon. I caught us a hunt.”

“You- what?” Sam took a step forward. “Dean, hang on. You’re not-.”

“Not what?” Dean interrupted. “I’m not getting any better? You’re right. But do you have a cure yet? No? So, let’s go do some good.”

Dean turned without another word and walked out the church door. 

Sam threw Cas and Bobby a panicked look. He dashed after Dean. Dean waited at the bottom of the steps. He juggled his keys in his hand. 

“Bobby said he brought Baby up here. Do you know where he parked her?”

“Dean,” Sam grasped his sleeve. “What is this? Is this the Mark?”

Dean fidgeted.

“Talk to me,” Sam demanded.

“Yes, it’s the Mark of Cain,” Dean confessed. “It burns, Sam. I got to do something about it or I’m going to chop my arm off.”

“And you think a hunt will help?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “The Mark wants to kill. It doesn’t really care what dies. Monster, human, angel. I got feed the machine or get churned up and spit out worse than before, Sam. Hunting seems like the safest outlet.”

Sam let go of Dean. “Okay,” he gave in. “The car’s this way.”

Sam led the way around the church to the service road. The tree roots tripped him up in the dark. The shadow covered in a tarp finally came into view. Sam ripped the tarp off. The black paint gleamed even in the dark.

Dean’s grin split his face. He practically skipped to the Impala. He skimmed a hand over her roof as he opened the driver’s door. Sam watched Dean’s face as he himself climbed into the passenger’s seat. Dean ran his hands up and down the steering wheel.

“Man, I missed you, Baby. Even from Hell.”

Sam started. “What? Really?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Everything felt different as a demon. But I remembered that I loved Baby. I wanted her back. I wanted a lot of things.” 

“Like what?”

“Like my wings,” Dean confessed. He gripped the wheel tighter and didn’t look at Sam. “I was going to get my wings back, Sam.”

Sam spluttered. “How? Is that even possible?”

Dean shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

Dean growled, “Drop it, Sam.”

Sam exclaimed, “Drop it? You just told me we could be angels again!”

“No, we can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I had to kill angels to do it!” Dean shouted. 

Sam froze. 

Dean’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel. He let out a breath. “I know it would work. But I’m not willing to try it. Not ever again. The price is too high.”

Dean did that thing of his. He dropped his head in shame. But when he lifted his chin, it was with defiance in the clench of his jaw and a challenge in his eye. No one got to call Dean Winchester on his BS. He knew what he did. And he stood by his decisions. Every time. Hell, if Sam hadn’t missed that.

Dean levelled Sam with a glare so intense Sam shrank in his seat. 

“Promise me,” Dean said. “You won’t ever try it either. Swear to me, Sam.”

“I swear,” Sam gasped.

They sat in brooding silence for a long minute. Finally, Sam swallowed and spoke. “I didn’t know you remembered being a demon.”

“I remember,” Dean nodded.

“And?” Sam pressed.

“And what?” Dean plastered a chipped grin on his face. “I’m back to being me. We’re moving on.”

“Dean-.”

“Sam,” Dean said firmly. “I’m not talking about it. Ever. I’m going to move past it, and if I ever can’t do that alone, then I’ll drown my sorrows in whiskey. Got it?”

“You have to talk about this stuff,” Sam insisted. “It’s not healthy.”

“Thanks, Doctor Phil,” Dean sassed. He twisted the keys in the ignition. The Impala roared to life.

The hunt went well. The vampire nest didn’t know what hit them. Sam was grateful he and Dean hadn’t lost a step.

Sam and Dean piled back into the car. Sam’s blood sang with adrenaline. He turned to Dean. 

Dean sagged in his seat. His face looked hollow.

“Hey,” Sam said in alarm. “You good?”

“Little worn out,” Dean admitted. 

The confession gave Sam goosebumps. Dean never acknowledged weakness. 

“You want me to drive?” Sam offered.

“Over my dead body,” Dean said without heat. He started driving. 

Sam watched Dean as he drove. “How does the Mark feel?”

Dean touched his sleeve. “Better.”

They pulled up at the church. 

“Man, I’m hungry,” Dean said. They walked around to the front steps. “I could go for a cheeseburger, or a whole pot of chili, or-.”

Dean stumbled. Sam caught him just as Dean’s eyes rolled back into his head. 

“Bobby!” Sam yelled. The doors slammed open. Cas and Bobby both ran down the stairs. 

“What happened?” Bobby demanded.

Sam shook his head. “He just keeled over.”

Together, they lifted Dean and dragged him into the church and to the couch in the office. Dean shook like a leaf. Sweat dotted his face.

Bobby laid a hand on Dean’s forehead. Cas hovered in the corner.

“He’s burning up,” Bobby grumbled. 

He grabbed a rag and ran it under the sink. Sam snagged the blanket off the back of the couch. He draped it over Dean. He looked frail and pale under the cloth Bobby placed on his forehead.

“Was he injured on the hunt?” Cas asked.

Sam shook his head. “He said he felt better.”

“He must have over exerted himself,” Bobby guessed. “Sam,” he gripped Sam’s shoulder. “He’s not looking good.”

“I know.”

“We can’t let him die,” Bobby said.

“I agree,” Sam said with an edge of desperation.

“No,” Bobby clarified. “I mean we can’t let him die. If Dean dies with the Mark again, we can’t un-demon him a second time.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded. “So, the stakes are higher than before. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Yes, it does,” Bobby argued. “We have to figure out a backup plan here. Some way to trap Dean, or-.”

“No,” Sam cut across. “We don’t need a contingency because Dean isn’t going to die. That’s the end of it.”

Sam looked away from the pity in Bobby’s eyes. 

Sam knelt at Dean’s side. Bobby motioned to Cas and they left the room. The door closed behind them.

Sam leaned over Dean’s pale face. “You can’t do this to me,” Sam hissed. “I just got you back. You have to fight, understand?”

Dean didn’t respond.

Dawn illuminated the images of the saints in the panes of glass. Sam remained with Dean. Dean didn’t stir the whole night. His temperature continued to spike.

Someone knocked on the door. Cas poked his head in. “Sam, I found something.”

Sam stood. His knees creaked. “What is it?”

Cas stepped into the room. He held a massive tome in his hands. “There is a spell,” Cas started.

“Will it wipe out the Mark of Cain?” Sam asked.

“No,” Cas ducked his head. “But it will ensure Dean doesn’t become a demon.”

Sam’s exhausted brain took a second to catch up. “You mean he’ll still die.”

“Yes,” Cas admitted. “But-.”

“No,” Sam slashed a hand through the air as if he could erase the idea.

“Sam,” Bobby stood in the doorway. He shuffled into the room. “I love Dean. He’s my son. You both are. But we have to think big picture here.”

“The big picture is Dean’s life!” Sam argued.

“And what if he pops black eyes, then what?” Bobby’s voice raised. “We barely made it through the first time. There’s no second round, you know that!”

Tears welled up in Sam’s eyes. He dropped his gaze to Dean’s face. Dean had never been weak, not to Sam. To see him so frail hurt like hell.

“Just hear us out, okay?” Bobby’s voice dropped to a soothing tone. “Dean would die, yes. But he wouldn’t be gone.”

“What?” Sam’s head jerked up. 

Cas pushed the book in his hands towards Sam. “This spell can trap a soul on this plane as a ghost. If Dean didn’t have a body, then he wouldn’t have the Mark of Cain either.”

“You want to turn him into-,” Sam choked. “We hunt ghosts, Bobby! You want him to become a vengeful spirit?”

“This spell will stabilize him,” Bobby insisted. “He could stay here so long as the object he’s tied to is intact.”

“No,” Tears ran down Sam’s face. “No, you can’t ask me to watch him die.”

Bobby wrapped Sam in his arms. Sam remained rigid. 

Bobby pulled back. He held Sam by the shoulders. “Go sleep on it. You’re worn out. We don’t have to do anything yet.”

Sam nodded. He trudged to the other office and fell face first into his pile of blankets. 

Sam woke in the dark. An idea had solidified in his mind. Sam got up. As quietly as possible, he trekked down the hallway to the office where Dean slept on the couch. Sam held his breath as he turned the doorknob. He gave the door a push, cringing while he waited for a creak that never came. Sam popped his head into the dark room. 

Dean slept alone. Bobby and Cas had left to try and catch a few z’s before sunrise. 

Sam crept into the room. He knelt beside Dean. Dean breathed deep and even. Even in sleep the fever sparked perspiration on his brow. 

Sam placed a hand over Dean’s mouth. Dean jerked awake. He blearily focussed on Sam.

Sam held a finger to his lips. Dean nodded. Sam removed his hand. 

“We have to go,” Sam whispered.

“What?” Dean rubbed at his eyes. 

“C’mon.” Sam pulled at Dean’s arm. 

Dean let Sam tug him upright. “What are you doing?” Dean’s voice slurred with sleep.

“We have to go,” Sam repeated. His heart hammered. If they could just make it to the car-

“Where’s Bobby?” Dean asked. 

Sam ignored his question and helped Dean stand. Dean swayed. Sam’s gut twisted. He wished he didn’t have to do this to Dean. But they had to hurry. Sam draped Dean’s arm over his shoulder. 

“Where are we going?” Dean asked.

Sam hushed him. They tiptoed past the other office doors and into the sanctuary. The saints in glass glared with disapproval as Sam stole his brother into the night. 

The front door groaned when Sam opened it. The hairs stood up on the back of Sam’s neck. He hoped even if the sound woke Bobby or Cas, he and Dean would make it to the car before they could be stopped.

They made it down one of the front steps. Then Dean started coughing. He leaned hard on Sam. Sam rubbed his back even as he tugged Dean down another step. 

“Sam, stop,” Dean coughed. He hacked and gasped for breath. 

Sam paused half a second. “We have to move,” Sam insisted. He pulled Dean forward. 

Dean kept coughing. The heaves shook his whole body. Sam practically dragged Dean to the bottom of the stairs. 

Dean’s legs gave way. Sam sank into the grass with him. Dew soaked straight through the knees of his jeans. Dean hunched in on himself as he hacked. Blood flecked his lips. Sam’s hands rubbed soothing circles over his back. 

“Come on,” Sam urged. “You have to get up, Dean. We have to go.”

“Why?” Dean demanded between coughs. 

“Because if we don’t go, you’ll die!” Sam’s hands shook. “I’m trying to save you.”

“From Cas’ plan,” the coughs subsided just long enough for Dean to form the words. He stared reproachfully at Sam’s shocked face.

“You know?” Sam gasped. “Bobby told you?”

“Cas told me-,” Dean broke off into another fit. He held Sam’s eye as he coughed. Sam read the judgment loud and clear.

“I can’t let you die, Sam whimpered. 

“Not your choice,” Dean choked out.

Tears formed in Sam’s eyes. He swiped at his face. 

The coughs finally settled. Dean breathed in great gulps. The cold night air gathered in clouds between Sam and Dean with every exhale.

“What was your plan?” Dean asked at last.

Sam’s heart skipped. He couldn’t look at Dean. “Angel grace.”

Dean growled, “You promised me-.”

“Some promises should be broken,” Sam interrupted. “To save you, I would condemn myself to Hell ten times over.”

“What about me? Huh?” Dean demanded. “I don’t get a say?”

“In your own death?”

“It’s either Cas’ plan or horns and pitch forks,” Dean said. “I’ll choose the one in a million shot, thanks.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Tears clogged Sam’s throat. “What if you…” 

“Die?” Dean finished for him. “What if I don’t come back at all?”

Sam nodded.

Dean quirked a smile. It looked awful in the dark with blood still staining his lips. “Then at least I didn’t hurt anyone else when I went. That sounds okay to me.”

Dean shuddered. “Can we please go back inside?”

“Yeah,” Sam helped Dean to his feet. Dean’s face looked whiter and more strained than before. Guilt riddled Sam. He wore Dean out with this stunt. 

“I’m still not giving up on you,” Sam said.

Dean laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”


	19. Baby Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the road. Thanks to everyone who read, left kudos, and commented. I wouldn't have gotten this far without you.  
> Trigger Warning for this chapter: Possible suicide/implied suicide. If you want more details skip down to the notes at the end of the chapter.

Dean slept uneasily. His head filled with visions from Hell overlayed on memories from his childhood. He saw himself playing in Bobby’s backyard beside the tree Sam had grown with his angel mojo. Behind him, the house burned. A pit opened up underneath the tree. Sam stood at the edge. Dean scrambled to pull Sam away from the pit. He couldn’t get to Sam in time. Sam spread his arms wide and closed his eyes. Dean screamed. 

He woke up screaming. Dean’s fists twisted in his blanket. His sweaty shirt clung to his back. 

Someone stood in the corner of the room beside the lamp. Dean couldn’t see their face. Their edges blurred. Dean jerked upright. His head spun. The image in the corner faded. It morphed into an ugly red and yellow lamp.

Sam crashed into the room. “Dean. You okay?”

Dean’s shaking vision cleared. The figure solidified again. It looked like the shadow of a person. “Who are you?” Dean barked. 

Sam whirled around. He glanced from the lamp to the table and back like he couldn’t see the shadow between them. 

“What do you want?” Dean demanded. 

The shadow didn’t answer. 

“Dean,” Sam turned back to his brother. “What is it?”

Dean pointed. Sam looked. “There’s nothing there,” Sam said.

The shadow flickered and vanished. 

Dean sagged against his pillow. “There was something,” Dean insisted. “A ghost?”

Sam shook his head. “The church is warded, remember? Bobby says nothing can get in.”

“Maybe something is already here,” Dean argued.

Sam’s brow furrowed in concern. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Not really,” Dean admitted. His arms shook. He laid back down. A pounding behind his eyes throbbed. 

“Get some rest,” Sam knocked his knuckles against the door as he closed it behind him.

Dean lay shivering under his blanket. He watched the corner. Nothing re-appeared. But the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck wouldn’t relax. His eyes burned with the intensity of the stare he directed at the corner. The red and yellow pattern on the lampshade wavered as his vision blurred. Dean blinked.

The shadow came back. Dean sat up. It looked distinctly like a human. Too bad so many monsters also had human outlines. 

“What do you want?” Dean growled. The shadow didn’t move. It remained standing in the corner beside the ugly lamp. Dean reached for the gun he always kept under his pillow. He groped around. He couldn’t find the gun. Dean shook his muzzy head. When had he laid down? He didn’t remember how he got to the couch. He didn’t have a gun. But a ghost stood in the corner. 

Dean lifted his head. The shadow vanished.

Dean woke to someone placing a cold cloth on his forehead. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas’ rumbling voice said. 

Dean tried to sit up. He felt so weak. 

“Just rest,” Cas said.

“Where’s the ghost?” Dean mumbled.

Cas frowned. “Sam and I have both checked the building for EMF. There is no ghost.”

“Not a ghost then,” Dean muttered. “Tulpa? Daeva?”

Dean turned his head. The shadow stood in the corner. Dean struggled to sit up. Cas’ hand on his shoulder held him down.

“Dean, you are dangerously feverish,” Cas informed him. “Bobby believes you may be hallucinating.”

“It’s right there!” Dean pointed. Cas looked. 

“I don’t see anything,” Cas said.

The shadow lifted a hand and waved. 

“Cheeky bastard,” Dean mumbled. 

His eyelids felt heavy. His lungs suddenly spasmed. Dean coughed. The cough turned into a fit. Cas helped Dean sit up. Every cough felt like a blow to the ribs. Blood splattered over Dean’s hand. The attack finally faded. Dean lay back panting. Cas offered Dean a tissue to wipe his mouth. 

Dean leaned back into his pillow. His eyes slid shut. 

Dean stood on a high mountain. He knew he was dreaming. He’d never seen a mountainside so purple or a sky so blue. He breathed deep. The air smelled pure up this high. 

A trail wound up to Dean’s spot on the peak. A woman dressed in black jeans and leather jacket walked up the trail. She sat beside Dean. 

“Your time is almost up,” she told him. She reached out and touched the raised red Mark of Cain on Dean’s arm. “It’s burning you from the inside.”

The trees suddenly burst into flame. The mountains peaks melted into walls of stone. The throne room of Hell spread before Dean’s eyes. He watched blood pool under his boots.

Dean woke up. 

The shadow in the corner mocked him. Dean sat up. He ignored the sparks at the edge of his vision. 

“What do you want?” Dean yelled. He grabbed the glass of water on the table beside him. He hurled the glass at the shadow. The glass passed right through the shadow and shattered against the wall. 

The door slammed open. 

“Are you okay?” Sam’s hair stood on end. He looked like he’d been yanked out of sleep. His wide eyes scanned the room. He took a step towards the corner. Dean held his breath. Sam crouched and gathered the broken glass, ignorant to the shadow looming over his head. Dean groaned.

“It’s still here, Sam,” Dean said. 

Sam frowned. “I don’t see anything. We ran the EMF-.”

“Then do it again!” Dean exclaimed. “I’m telling you, it’s right there!” He pointed. 

“Hey, easy,” Sam held out his hands. “You’re getting worked up. Just relax.”

“Can’t relax,” Dean mumbled. “Damn monster in the room.”

Sam’s mouth twisted. “How about we move you to my room? Would that help?”

Dean shrugged. 

“Okay,” Sam nodded.

***

After Dean got settled in the new room, Sam joined Bobby and Cas in the sanctuary. Books scattered across the pews and stacked at the base of the pulpit. Bobby flipped a page.

Sam flopped down beside Bobby. He ran a hand over his weary eyes. “Dean’s not doing any better.”

Bobby grunted. “We gotta do this spell now. Before he fades.”

Sam pressed his palms to his eye sockets until he saw sparks. “I can’t kill him.” His jaw clenched hard to keep the tears at bay.

“He’s already dead,” Bobby insisted.

“It’s not the same and you know it,” Sam snapped. 

“Sam,” Cas set aside his book. He came and stood in front of Sam. “If it makes it easier, I could do it.”

Sam choked. “No,” he wiped his eyes. “It has to be me.”

“What do we need then?” Bobby asked. 

Sam couldn’t speak. Cas answered for him. “The ingredients for the spell are ready. The incantation is prepared. We can do this whenever Sam wishes.”

Sam looked up. Cas’ intense blue gaze pinned him to the pew. Sam couldn’t help but recall the angelic power Cas once wielded. He had led armies. He understood acceptable losses. Sam didn’t have that experience. He also didn’t have a choice. Sam would let the world burn for Dean. But he couldn’t let Dean become a monster. Not again.

“Okay,” Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m ready.”

***

Dean tossed and turned. Every movement jostled his aching bones. Every shift caused a coughing fit that felt like a punch in the sternum. 

Dean opened his eyes in the dark office. The thick floral curtains kept the sunlight out. The desk shoved in the corner held an ancient computer that probably wouldn’t boot up if he tried it. 

Something moved in the corner of Dean’s eye. 

The shadow came back. 

Dean growled. He pulled the flannel blanket over his head. “Just a fever dream,” Dean muttered. 

He drifted like that for a while. Eventually, the blanket over his face became suffocating. Dean tossed it aside.

The shadow moved. 

Goosebumps raised all along Dean’s arms. The shadow solidified as it took another step forward. It became a woman with short dark hair and a leather jacket. 

“I know you,” Dean sat up. “I dreamed you.”

She nodded. “I tried to speak to you, but your head’s a mess, kid.”

Dean slumped back. “Are you an angel?”

“Not exactly,” she shook her head. “My name is Tessa. I’m a reaper.”

Dean gasped. His lungs chose that moment to constrict. Dean leaned over the side of the couch as he coughed. Every squeeze of his chest wrenched his whole body. Dean wheezed for breath between the punches. At last, the fit subsided. Dean lay back exhausted.

Tessa moved forward. She touched his feverish face. Dean shivered. Her hand was like ice.

“Does this mean I’m dying?”

Tessa cocked her head. “You already know you are.”

“But right now?” Dean asked. “Right this second?”

“No,” the reaper smoothed her hand over Dean’s cheek. “That’s why I’m here.” She straightened. “You can’t die like this, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s foggy brain refused to cooperate. “How do you mean?”

Tessa frowned. “You know your little rag tag family is trying to save you.”

“They’re trying to put me down safely,” Dean acknowledged.

“They want to make you a spirit.”

“Better than the alternative.”

Tessa nodded. “You need help. I can guide you through the process.”

“What?” Dean spluttered.

“Listen,” she said. “I’ve seen it done dozens of times. Some folks want to stay behind. I’ve watched them latch their souls onto objects to become ghosts. I know how it’s done.”

“And you’re going to help me out of the goodness of your heart?” Dean scoffed.

“No,” Tessa shook her head. ‘I’m doing this to save the planet. I know what happened in Hell. The angels and the demons are still talking about it. You can’t lose yourself to the Mark of Cain again.”

Dean hung his head. “I know.” He’d ignored the ache in his arm so far. Now it throbbed like fire. He rubbed a hand over it. “I can’t do it alone, though. You gotta talk to Sam.”

Tessa nodded. “Call him.”

“Sam!” Dean shouted. “Sam!” The second yell caught in his throat. A cough wracked his body.

Sam skidded into the room with Cas and Bobby behind him. 

Their eyes fell on Tessa hovering over Dean as he choked on blood. 

Sam drew a gun from his waistband. “Step away from my brother.”

“Sam wait,” Dean held out a hand. He gasped for breath. “She’s here to help.”

“My name is Tessa,” the reaper stepped forward. “I can save Dean Winchester’s soul.”

“How?” Sam demanded. He didn’t lower the gun.

Tessa cocked her head. “I know about the spell you’re trying to enact. It won’t work. You need a jump start.”

The gun dropped a fraction. 

Dean felt a tickle in his throat. He swallowed, trying to force it down. It didn’t help. The cough burst from his lungs. Dean tried to cover his mouth as blood sprayed across his lips. To hell with it; the blood was getting worse.

Cas moved from behind Sam and knelt at Dean’s side. He rubbed Dean’s back, trying to coax him into relaxing. Dean couldn’t hear the soft murmured words over the roaring in his ears. At last, the fit subsided. Dean lay back. Cas’ face swam in front of his eyes. A buzzing filled Dean’s ears.

“I’m not going to last much longer,” Dean said. His voice scratched. “That’s why Tessa’s here. You gotta listen to her.”

Cas nodded. He looked up over his shoulder. Dean twisted his neck. Sam stood beside Cas. The furrow between his brows betrayed his worry. 

“I trust her,” Dean said. “Let her talk.”

“Fine,” Sam ground out. 

Tessa cocked a hip. “For folks who kill ghosts, you don’t understand much about them. Do you know why there are power surges and cold spots when ghosts manifest?” She asked.

“It signals a ghost presence,” Sam said.

“No,” she pointed a finger at him. “That’s a result. What’s the reason?”

Sam exchanged a dumbfounded look with Bobby.

“It’s because ghosts need a huge amount of energy to make themselves physical.” Tessa snapped her fingers. “They draw the heat right out of the air and suck the power from electronics.”

“I don’t get what this has to do with Dean,” Sam said.

Tessa sighed. “If you’re going to get this plan to work, you need to provide Dean with a power source. Otherwise, it could take him years to master manifestation. Or he could just waste away.”

Sam cast Dean a panicked look.

“And there’s one other thing,” Tessa said. “You can’t kill him.”

“What?” Sam spluttered. “What do you-.”

“If you kill him with any earthly weapon, you will receive the Mark of Cain after Dean dies. That’s how the Curse of Cain works. You have to let him die of the Mark while he holds the First Blade.”

“You won’t have to wait too long,” Dean tried to make his voice light. Nobody so much as smiled.

“I have to explain to Dean how this will work,” Tessa said. “I’d appreciate if I could speak to him alone.”

“If you think I’m going to leave you-,” Sam started.

“What I’m about to say involves the process of crossing over from life to death and breaking the natural cycle of the cosmos,” Tessa snapped. “I’m disobeying every oath I took as a reaper just to tell Dean. I will not give that knowledge to hunters too.”

Sam locked eyes with Tessa. The stare could have melted icebergs. 

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “Sam, I’m okay.”

Sam huffed. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Bobby followed.

Cas started to get up. Tessa touched his shoulder. Cas flinched.

“You know what’s at stake better than anyone,” Tessa said.

Cas nodded.

“Find Dean something to anchor himself to,” Tessa instructed. 

Cas left, closing the door behind him.

“Now what?” Dean asked.

Tessa paced in front of the couch, rubbing her hands together. Her eyes watched something very far away.

“Hey,” Dean called. 

Tessa’s gaze snapped back to him.

“Your part in this is going to be the hardest,” she blurted out. “It will take courage.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dean scoffed.

“You must use the First Blade to finish the spell.”

Dean frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means that letting the Mark kill you might not be enough. You have to choose the timing wisely.”

“You mean kill myself.” Dean’s whole body went cold. Under the blanket his hands started shaking. 

“It’s not the same,” Tessa argued. “You’d be triggering the spell to separate your spirit from your body. It won’t be anything so traumatic as a real death.”

“You lied to my brother,” Dean accused.

“I told him what he needed to know. He has to be properly motivated,” Tessa said. 

“So, you expect me to fall on my sword?” 

“You’ve done it before.”

Dean was thrown back to Stull Cemetery. The threads of his Grace trailed through his fingers. 

“That was different,” Dean argued. 

“You have to break the cycle. No one else can have the Mark of Cain or the First Blade. Your brother’s magic is powerful. The spell will catch your soul before you become a demon.”

“You hope,” Dean muttered. 

“We all have to hope,” Tessa’s eyes flashed. “Dean, you of all people understand how devastating the Mark and the Blade are. They must be destroyed.”

Dean heaved a sigh. “Yeah.” He glanced back up at her. “How much time do we have?”

“Hours.”

“What?” Dean yelped. He tried to get up. His bare feet hit the floor. His knees buckled. Dean’s head spun. Somehow, he went from upright to sprawled on the floor. 

Tessa reached out to help him. Dean swatted her hand away. “Get Sam.”

Tessa hurried from the room. Dean pulled himself into sitting with his back against the couch. “Stupid reapers,” he gasped. “Waiting until the last minute.”

The Mark of Cain suddenly flared on Dean’s arm. Dean bit down on his tongue to hold back a scream. He clutched his arm to his chest. The heat raced from Dean’s arm up his shoulder to his chest. The flame became a knife stabbing into his heart. 

“Dean,” Sam’s shout echoed in his ears as if Sam had said it more than once. Dean lifted his head. 

“It’s time,” Dean croaked. 

Sam’s face blanched. He nodded. Sam got an arm around Dean’s back and helped him stand. Dean stumbled. Sam lifted the arm Dean wasn’t clutching over his shoulder. Sam half dragged half carried Dean out of the room. They wobbled down the center aisle of the sanctuary. The glowing saints in the windows lit their path with overlapping blue and green and red. 

"Dean, I have to say something," Sam started.

"No," Dean growled. "We're not doing good-byes. I'll see you on the other side."

Sweat soaked Dean’s brow by the time they made down the front steps of the church. Cas and Bobby waited somberly at the base of the steps. Bobby had the spell assembled and ready for the incantation.

The Impala sat with her engine growling on the grass. 

“Baby?” Dean asked.

“It was Cas’ idea,” Sam explained. “The car has an energy source your soul can draw on. Plus, it’s important to you. And it’s mobile.”

Bobby opened the driver’s door for Dean. Sam helped him sit behind the wheel.

Sam had to lift Dean’s arms for him. His hands shook on the steering wheel. Dean quirked Sam a smile. “Don’t look so serious. Your face will stick that way.”

“Jerk,” Sam said with wet eyes.

“Bitch.”

Dean closed his eyes. The Mark clawed at his chest, demanding he give in. “Tessa, now,” Dean choked. 

The car doors slammed. The locks clicked into place. Sam hollered. 

“Dean!” Sam smacked his hand on the window. “What are you doing?”

Tessa appeared in the passenger’s seat. She held the First Blade in her hands. The Mark shrieked. Dean’s fingers twitched to grab the Blade from her. His weak arms wouldn’t move. 

Tessa reached over and took one of Dean’s hands. She wrapped his fingers around the Blade’s handle. Then she vanished. 

Dean hardly heard Sam pounding on the window. He clenched the Blade in his grip. Strength surged through his wrist. He had just enough power for this. 

Dean looked up. Through the windshield he saw Bobby. His face had gone slack in shock. Beside him, Cas’ blue eyes pierced Dean’s. Dean nodded. Cas nudged Bobby. Bobby closed his eyes. He lit the matches to ignite the spell’s ingredients. All that remained was the incantation.

“Sam,” Dean reached up. He placed his hand on the window. Sam stopped punching the car. Tears ran down his face. Sam raised his hand and placed it over Dean’s on the other side. 

“Not like this,” Sam sobbed.

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean reminded him. “I’m gonna haunt your ass until kingdom come. Got it?”

Sam’s lip wobbled.

The Mark sent a wave of pain crashing through Dean’s nerves.

“Sam, you gotta do the spell,” Dean told him through clenched teeth. “You gotta do it now, or it’s all over.”

Sam swallowed hard. He lowered his head. The words fell from his lips like a prayer.

Dean felt the spell latch onto him like a fishing hook digging into his guts. 

Dean lifted the First Blade. “Here goes nothing.”

The Mark screamed. Dean’s teeth clenched so hard he was sure he cracked a filling. Dean sliced the Blade across his wrist. Blood welled up and dripped onto his jeans. Dean smeared the blood over the steering wheel. 

Sam’s chanting ended.

Something like a sledgehammer hit Dean over the back of the head. Stars obscured his vision. Then everything faded to black. Though he couldn’t see, Dean felt his whole body enveloped in flames. He screamed. The burning consumed him. Then it faded. Dean floated in a haze of nothing. 

“Dean?” He heard a voice. He knew that voice. It belonged to someone he loved. Who was it? Dean tried to open his eyes. Nothing happened. 

The voice called out for him again. Dean tried to move towards the voice. It grew louder and louder. Dean had the sense that he pressed through a barrier as thin as a veil. 

A flickering sensation crawled over his skin. Dean’s eyes opened. 

He sat in the front seat of the Impala as though nothing had changed. 

Everything had changed.

The sun had gone down, leaving him squinting into the twilight. Dean checked himself over. The Mark of Cain no longer marred his skin. Dean breathed deep. For the first time in days, his lungs didn’t hitch. The blood he’d smeared over the steering wheel flaked off under Dean’s palms. He looked up through the windshield.

Sam sat hunched over on the bottom step of the church. Tear tracks ran down his puffy face. 

Dean opened the car door. It groaned and slammed behind him. Sam didn’t look up.

Dean sat down next to him. 

Sam started. He yelped, “Dean?”

“Hey man,” Dean grinned. “You waiting for me?”

Sam threw his arms around Dean. For half a second, he almost passed right through Dean. But Dean clung back just as hard. 

***

The Impala door opened. Dean stepped out. He wandered over with his hands stuck in his jacket pockets. He came to a halt beside Sam.

“Well, this is the strangest thing I’ve ever done,” Dean said.

“Haunting a car?”

“Watching my own funeral.”

The pyre sparked and flames shot over the sad bundle laid out on the wood.

Bobby brought out a bottle of whiskey. Cas sniffed it suspiciously before passing it along to Sam. Dean kept his hands clenched in his pockets. The pyre collapsed into ashes.

“So, now what?” Bobby finally broke the silence. 

Dean shrugged. “Same as before. Except now I got super powers! Look at this,” Dean concentrated. A static shock rippled over his skin. His physical form flickered out of view and re-appeared on the other side of the pyre. He whooped. “Cool, right?”

“It’s a little freaky,” Sam admitted. 

Dean jogged back over. “Oh, sure. It’s not any less freaky than your witchy powers.”

“We’re never going to be normal, are we?” Sam joked.

Dean threw an arm over Sam’s shoulder. “Nah. We got a witch, a ghost, an ex-angel, and a cranky old hunter in this family. Ain’t nothing ever going to be normal for us.”

Sam lifted the bottle of whiskey. “I’m okay with that.”

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is dedicated to NinaFerraro, who gave me the prompt to jump start this whole thing.  
> Trigger warning: Suicide is implied. The character is already dying and chooses to injure themselves in order to speed the process. For the purposes of plot, the character has to choose the moment of their death, rather than allow the supernatural force at work to kill them naturally.   
> If this implied suicide could potentially trigger you, please don’t read. Do what you have to keep yourself safe.


End file.
